Faith in Broken Halos
by GalwayGirl2
Summary: After the disaster in the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort is keen on discovering Harry's weaknesses... which is why Draco has been chosen to spy on Potter's best friend- Granger. What is uncovered leaves the two wondering if perhaps first impressions aren't everything.
1. Prologue

**Faith in Broken Halos  
**

 **Prologue**

" _All the world's a stage,_

 _And all the men and women are merely players._

 _They have their exits and their entrances._

 _And one man in his time plays many parts." -W. Shakespeare from "As you like it"_

"Do you understand how vitally important this is?" Lucius asked.

Draco felt the 'yes' rise automatically up his throat, the way it had been conditioned to since his early childhood. His eyes burned to look at the unblemished purity that was the skin on his left forearm but Draco Malfoy was anything but stupid.

"Yes Father," Draco intoned. His mother, Narcissa, could be seen behind Lucius. In a rare moment of emotion, her hand fisted, trembling just above her mouth.

His father stared a heartbeat longer so Draco steeled his gaze. With a final nod, the Malfoys turned on the spot, a faint pop being all that remained at their disapparition site.

The cold temperature at their destination instantly enveloped Draco but he suppressed a shiver, nonetheless. In a moment of weakness, he reflected that o much of his true self was forced beneath the surface, he couldn't help but wonder when it would spill over.

A score of hooded black figures surrounded the Malfoys, making a sentient circle of hell. People didn't understand that hell wasn't fire and brimstone; it was ice cold apathy. Draco dislodged that dangerous thought and tucked it away in the back with all the others.

He noticed his parents had filled in two empty space in the circle, now cloaked and masked. He stood alone, still and yet barreling toward the intractable moment that would delineate his life into a "before" and "after".

"Draco," the soft voice flitted, lingering overlong on the 'o'. "It's a pleasure to see you ready to join the honorable ranks… as well as carry on the family legacy." Voldemort slithered into the center of the circle, almost spectral. Draco grasped onto his rehearsed words like an anchor.

"I live to serve, my Lord." The slightest lilt stuttered the "L" but Draco kept his eyes trained up and on the Dark Lord.

"And serve you shall." Voldemort floated to stand directly in front of Draco, close enough for his breath to fan over the young Malfoy's skin. The smell of ashes would be the stuff of his nightmares for months to come. Voldemort's hand hovered above Draco's outstretched arm and in the blink of an eye, the black ink bubbled to the surface creating ridges of poison to etch his new future onto his skin. Draco exhaled slowly as the ritual came to a close and Voldemort stepped back to preach to his followers.

"My loyal followers! Let us welcome our newest member," Voldemort leered, an almost manic glint of victory shining in his eyes. Draco bowed his head slightly, the movement a comfort as it brought him back to steady ground- pure rehearsal. "You all may depart. I need to speak privately with young Draco." The cold evening air was filled with pops of disapparition, his mother and father being the last to leave as they both sent farewell glances.

One, a frigid gray glare of expectation. The other, a dark gaze softened by concern.

When the air settled to quiet, Draco turned his eyes on the Dark Lord, affecting the appropriate level of respect in his gaze. "Now Draco, listen carefully for this task is vitally important…"


	2. The Task

**Chapter 1**

" _And I watch from a distance seventeen, and I'm short of the others dreams_

 _of being golden and on top,_

 _It's not what you painted in my head,_

 _there's so much there instead of all the colors that I saw." -Dream by Imagine Dragons_

Anticipation and irritation glowed like twin beacons under Draco's skin. He hoped his father would finish with this latest "teaching" session soon so he could just get to it.

He was aching to just _get_ to it.

"Show me your disillusionment charm once more," Lucius commanded. With an inward sigh and flick of his wand, Draco cast the spell. "Not good enough!" Lucius barked. Draco released the spell, bowing his head slightly. "You will be discovered in less than a day,: Lucius continued.

 _That's if I ever get there._ Draco squashed the thought and instead replied, "I promise to be discreet, Father." His mother jumped in, thank Gods. "I think we can trust Draco, Lucius. You raised him well," Narcissa murmured.

Draco choked back a snort. He headed for the door of the manor, intending on getting a moment of quiet and fresh air before embarking but his father's firm hand stayed him.

"Don't disappoint," was his parting shot.

The air was bracing, much like a shot of Firewhisky. Draco pulled it in, relishing the way his lungs expanded and pressed against his rib cage. He released, then turned on the spot knowing that any further pondering of his Father's words would lead him down a dark and dangerous road.

And he was to traverse a different road for the time being. No less dark or dangerous. He disapparated to a nondescript road with stately looking townhouses in a straight, ordered line. Draco smirked then cast the charm before someone noticed his presence. He strolled down the road, glancing at addresses until finding his destination: a rather impressive two-story brick structure with a well groomed yard and a large weeping willow on the side by the carpark.

 _Perfect._ Draco headed toward the tree, noting that no cars were parked at present. What good fortune if his mark was home alone.

He levitated himself into the tree, onto a branch level with a window, hoping that it revealed something worthy. Lo and behold it did- his dark and dangerous task, the bane of his existence, mudbood Hermione Granger.

The Dark Lord had been furious that Potter and his suicidal squad thwarted the plan to obtain the prophecy from the Ministry. Of course, who would believe six amateur wizards could actually create such a mess, even with the help of the Order?

Thus, the Dark Lord was even more furious with his father, Lucius, who led the mission… which is why Draco was in this predicament. What better way to punish the Malfoys than to put their only heir at terrible risk?

If only his parents knew how terrible a risk it was.. and yet there was a secondary reason for his being holed up in a tree stalking his long-time rival.

The Dark Lord learned a couple months ago that Potter's strength and weakness lay in his allies. So here he was, spying on perfect, goody-two-shoes Granger for some sort of vital information to pass on to Voldemort so he would be off Draco's back.

And bring honor to the family, of course.

Draco turned his focus outward, his skin prickling with awareness as his eyes honed in on her. Granger was tucked in a window seat, a battered book lay forgotten in her lap. She gazed out on what he assumed to be her back lot, utterly lost in thought.

Draco rolled his eyes; how utterly predictable. Granger spent more time inside her head than out of it. The quirk is what earned her the nickname "insufferable know it all" from half of Hogwarts. He cast an unspoken cushioning charm on the branch he was seated on, aware that he was going to be here awhile, with only his thoughts to occupy his troubled mind.

The irony was not lost on him.


	3. What's in a Dream?

Author's Note: My first fanfic and I am equally terrified and invigorated by having a review and several follows already! I hope I remain entertaining… and, for the sake of clarity, I attempt to denote the dream passages. Thank you!

Disclaimer: Sorry JK- I didn't mean to feign ownership in my first two installments. You are the true queen; wear that crown with pride!

 **Chapter 2**

" _Hello darkness, my old friend; I've come to talk to you again_

 _Because a vision softly creeping_

 _Left its seed while I was sleeping." -Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel_

~The darkness enveloped Draco; his eyes were closed as they were of no use right now but his ears, well, everything depended on them.

He could hear his parents arguing in the parlor, not bothering to modulate their voices, as it was quite late at night. And that was quite fine with Draco because he was already terrified he would miss an important detail.

He squashed the terror, aware there was no time to dwell on it.

"Lucius, it is too risky. You put the entire family, none more than Draco at risk by releasing that… that thing," Narcissa implored.

It was as if Lucius was deaf. He steamrolled right over his wife in a superior tone, "This will be what brings Purebloods and the Malfoys back to glory. When this works, the basilisk will be just the first cleansing of those mudbloods from our world."

The terror was back, tenfold. Draco allowed himself a quick inhalation of breath and a shudder, and then slunk his small frame back to his room. Cocooned now in his bed, all the deaths that would result from his father's actions beat restlessly against his brain, a merciless wave of truth that revealed the same face over and over again.~

Draco's light blue eyes shot open. Belatedly, he gripped the tree limb and reengaged with his surroundings. The night had crowded around him, its darkness a boon and blasted curse. The curtains had been drawn closed around Granger's window, effectively shutting out that which lurked in the terrifying night.

 _Now would be as good a time as any to send a report._ He lowered himself from the tree and strode past the cars in the carpark and then cast a Lumos charm. He wanted a complete observation of the place he would be tracking for the last couple weeks before Granger was moved to the Weasel's hellhole. The back lot was as well ordered as the front but with a stone pathway to a patio. Wicker chairs and table stood lonely on the patio, almost neglected. The only sign of life was a cushion on one of the seats, a teacup forgotten in its saucer, with a spare bit of parchment tucked underneath.

Drawn by curiosity, Draco forgot his intent to report and pulled the parchment from underneath the cup. The frantic scribblings were hard to decipher at first but as words rose to the surface- bolded apologies and tear stained Mom and Dad- he was startled to see a rather emotional, unfinished farewell letter from Granger to her parents.

Draco felt the stirrings of something hot and tight in his ribcage. _What treachery_! He folded the parchment at the same time as he wadded up the jealousy and stuck it in the back with everything else that wouldn't see the light of day.

With what he deemed excessive force, he turned back to the task at hand. At this point in time, he only felt like contacting his mother, especially since nothing of significance had surfaced.

The parchment felt heavy in his pocket.

It took a minute but he was finally able to conjure his Patronus and send it off with a brief message to his mother. The silver dragon snorted softly then took off into the night. Draco looked around a final time, then headed back to the tree. The black night and drawn curtains meant he could catch a few more hours of sleep before the real work began.

~The bookshop was overcrowded, the air thick and humid from the constant nattering of the witches and wizards that stood waiting. Draco stood, almost bored, on a balcony above. He had escaped to this quiet corner after being rapped on the shoulder by his father's walking stick for perusing the muggle titles.

As if he could help that they were typically the better writers.

The crowd was swelling now with anticipation. Draco watched, one hand clenched to his side and the other wrapped firmly around a bit of paper. It wasn't long before he zoned in on what he was hoping to find; the wave of people were now cheering the entrance of that imbecile, Lockhart, but Draco was more concerned with the horde of gingers that were crowded at the front. Red hair, red hair, black hair… ah, there she was. Completely conspicuous with that tangle of coffee-colored curls.

He stared over long and soon the horde was filtering back to the front doors.

It was now or never. Draco's heart was pounding, he felt his breath turn shallow and his feet felt clumsy on the stairs. With a self control that felt perilously close to snapping, he pulled himself together and made the landing just in time to launch a snide remark at Potter.

All the while, he felt his skin prickle with awareness as Granger pushed her way to the front but too soon, his father intervened.

"I've heard all about you, Miss Granger," Lucius drawled. Draco stole a peek at her, marveling as the steel entered her posture.

It was now or never.

He took a breath, feathered his fingers discreetly and dropped the crumpled piece of parchment in Granger's bag. Now here's to hoping she truly was the brightest witch of their age.~

A/N: I know that this is much too brief and rather like a filler chapter but I hope to have Chapter 3 up later this week. Hang tight, friends!


	4. Brains before Beauty

Author's Note: Friends! I am happy to say that due to some over-eagerness to post Faith in Broken Halos, I settled for raw material but now, after the faithful guidance from my beta JG, I reposted Prologue, Ch 1 (The Task), and Ch 2 (What's in a Dream?) I urge you to take a look back since I did add some interesting and crucial detail! I promise thus forth not to post without beta guidance

Also, JK Rowling, you know this is all you, twisted to fulfill the ponderings of my head.

 **Brains before Beauty**

" _People are more what they hide than what they show." -Unknown_

The night had a way of debilitating Draco, laying to waste what he believed was an astounding level of self control on his part.

Come night? His walls crashed down and every last vulnerability vyed to be the focus, clawing at his skin and subconscious to be released. Thankfully, his first night on the task had passed and while the sun painted the clouds from below, Draco berated himself...again… for his weakness and tamped down for the new day.

Even if for only a few moments the sunrise illuminated every other choice that could have been made. Draco clenched his jaw, cast the Disillusionment charm, and waited for the flutterings of curtains.

It was no surprise to him that perhaps a mere half hour later, with the sun still a faraway golden snitch on the horizon, he observed the curtain being opened.

The hand bearing Draco's weight on the tree branch almost gave out. She was an utter mess; her hair was frizzy and chaotic while her eyes squinted into the light, scrunching her face. The blue cotton pajama top was sliding off her shoulder and then crept up her torso as she stretched out her arms.

He reminded himself to breathe. Then, he looked away. Draco felt ten minutes was sufficient enough for Granger to be made presentable.

Nevertheless, he peeked through the tangled, thin limbs to check that she was covered. She was binding her bushy mane back from her face as she sailed out the door and assumedly down the stairs.

Draco lowered himself down the willow tree and crept to each window using an extendable ear to pick up on voices- not all those Weaselys were good for nothing- when the irresistible smell of rashers and eggs stayed him.

"Good morning Mum, Daddy," Hermione greeted. He heard the clink of ceramic mugs and scraping of chairs. Silence followed. "Do we have anything planned for today," Hermione asked, her voice now tempered by the ensuing silence. Even Draco feel the awful prickling of awkwardness raise the skin on his arms.

"Oh, hello dear. Well, yes, there is something planned. Unfortunately it is work related. Able to hack it on your own?" This response was deep and distant, likely from her father.

The room grew unbearably quiet once again, save for the scrape of silverware on plates. Draco held his breath, already feeling the cold sweep of disappointment through his veins.

"Um, sure. Yes, I think I will just head to the library and study," Hermione replied.

"Good for you, dear. You know how vitally important it is for your success," her mother said. As an afterthought she added, "It makes us so proud."

Bodies were now shuffling in the room as the Granger family prepared to start their respective days but Draco was frozen to the spot. It was such a wicked case of deja vu; he almost thought to turn and see his father there, glaring at him.

He shook the feeling free of its hold and crept back to the tree, checking that the charm still held. Only a few minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Granger primly exited the back door and climbed into their rust-colored Ford Escort.

Quickly after that, Granger too stepped from the back- checking and double checking the door was locked. She was a brisk walker, that Granger, even with a rather formidable rucksack hanging from one shoulder.

Draco gripped his wand and followed at a distance, noting that she made no friendly overtures to neighbors or peers that were out and about. In fact, she seemed to have slowed to a trudge, with her head slightly bowed… _what was that about?_

It wasn't long before a stately building of marble loomed before them, the pillars sculpted of books piled 15 meters high. Granger had lingered momentarily, lifting her head to the height of the building with admiration sketched on her face, before she ventured inside.

Draco paused; he rather doubted that a muggle building would have any protection on it against magic. Then again, if it wiped away his charm, Granger could catch him… and only one day into the mission…

" _You will be discovered in less than a day!"_ His father's memory barked at him.

 _Like bloody hell._ Draco steeled himself and then stole into the library's shadowy depths. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the filtered light from the high, mullioned windows but his lungs...they breathed the air like it was home.

Musty pages. Untapped potential. The slightest hint of fresh ink on parchment.

Draco looked around. _Or, as muggle would say, paper._

With his eyes adjusted, he started his hunt for Granger. He was pretty positive that he knew where to start, considering that she was a creature of habit. Lo and behold, Draco slowed a few rows from the back where he had a perfect view of a small sitting area and Miss Studious Granger. Books were scattered across the table. She was folded into an over large arm chair with some sort of writing instrument poised at her lips, ready to be chewed by a neat row of white teeth.

Draco swallowed.

Granger seemed rather oblivious, if not a bit frenzied. The quill-like item had moved to parchment tracing a path along it with graceful loops and sharp scratches. Her mouth was moving along with the quill...thing so Draco carefully removed his extendable ear. He moved to another row then dropped the ear carefully, as close to her as possible.

The murmurs rose like smoke, just a wisp of vowels and consonants, too hard to grasp. He strained his hearing, honing his focus in on the murmurs as they took on some substance. He was entranced by the movement of her lips as he tried to decipher what she was saying.

"Seems to be the only thing I'm recognized for… can't let all those smarts go to waste… boring, bushy Granger- brightest witch of her age," she sighed.

The extendable ear went silent for a moment and Draco bristled with impatience. He waited for more, just that little bit more…

"Is it so bad if I want more, just a little bit more in my life?" A huff, then rustle of paper.

Draco started at the words, as if they somehow skipped from his brain waves and over to her mouth. He was so startled, in fact, that he retreated to outside where he chose to count the minutes instead of dissect any of the disconcerting mutterings he just heard.

Around 142 minutes later, Granger emerged into the afternoon light and proceed back home the way she came. Draco cast the Disillusionment charm again and followed, mulling over her slumped shoulders. The rest of the day was uneventful; she received two owls- a white one that looked like Saint Potter's and a little grey puff ball that he assumed to be Weasley- considering the rare smile that graced her face when they arrived.

She scribbled lines on two pieces of parchment, pausing occasionally before shaking her head and continuing. Sensing an opportunity, the wizard hurried from his hiding spot to the back lot where he discreetly waited behind a pillar on the patio. Soon, the owls vaulted from Granger's window; without considering risk, he whistled to catch their attention and held up a treat that he snagged from the kitchen window.

The owls were not immune to the allure of food so they changed course and landed near Draco, on the patio table. He murmured soothingly under his breath; the owls relaxed and accepted the treats, too distracted to notice Draco carefully remove the letters.

He smirked at the familiar sloping handwriting and was exhilarated to see he was right about the senders of the original letters.

Scanning for anything useful, Draco was confused that Granger didn't seem to reveal anything of real consequence despite the blanket of loneliness that weighed on her shoulders in just the single day he's been observing.

Toward the end, he was intrigued to see her claim that she would not be at the Weasel's before Harry was moved on the 14th since her parents were keeping her busy until start of school.

Draco's pale brows nearly disappeared into his hairline. He reattached the letters and sent the owls off. The willow tree seemed most unappealing at the moment, whereas the cloudy, typically English sky beckoned him. So, Draco sank onto his bottom behind the pillar and breathed in the humid afternoon air, wondering how this stupid task had become so complex so quickly.


	5. Opposites Attract

**Opposites Attract**

Disclaimer: We all know it belongs to Rowling.

" _When you try your best but you don't succeed, when you get what you want but not what you need;_

 _When you feel so tired but you can't sleep… stuck in reverse" -Fix You by Coldplay_

Night fell and with it, Draco's emotional fortress. He produced his silver dragon and passed along the information from Granger's letters, specifically about Potter's movements.

He hoped that the information would suffice for now. Draco's mind was spinning with the observations he gathered today. Granger turned out to be… not as he expected.

His mind, though, pulsed protest. It knew better.

Draco made his way up the lush willow tree, beckoned by the soft glow emitted from the window. His bones ached from the uncomfortable nature of the branch but he settled as best as he could, turning his gaze inward.

Granger was lying on her bed, face toward the window with her legs tucked up towards her chest, as if she could manifest a shield charm wand-less. An incoherent murmuring was leaking out the window, like tears making tracks on cheeks. Draco pressed the extendable ear to his own and was baffled to hear the husky warbles of music coming from Granger's room… coming from Granger herself.

"When the tears come streaming down your face, when you lose something you can't replace; when you love someone but it goes to waste… could it be worse?"

Draco jerked the magical eavesdropper away, almost unseating himself from the branch. There was sadness sketched in the song; a song that vibrated a little too eerily in his veins.

He willed his slightly trembling body to calm and then turned from the window in search of sleep, of escape.

What occurred was surrender.

 _Nothing felt more right than when Draco was on a broomstick. It was the last game of his second season- Slytherin v. Gryffindor- vying for the Quidditch Cup. The balls were all in play as players from both teams whizzed past Draco. He scanned the pitch and spotted Potter; he was struck by a wave of loathing that spread out from his chest, turning into bitter envy while he noticed Potter's confident form on the broom. He stifled the feeling, forbidden for a Malfoy, before he propelled his broom forward._

 _As difficult as it was to admit, even in the sanctuary of his own head, Potter was a fair flyer. Especially for one that had only been flying for two years._

 _It was enough to make Draco sick to his stomach._

 _He trailed Potter, simultaneously watching his attention as Draco did regular scans of the pitch, looking for that little golden ball that would make everything better…_

 _Before he knew it, Potter shot upwards into the clouds. It was instinctive on Draco's part to grab the tail end of Potter's broom, chanting a prayer of desperation that the snitch would disappear, would give him a chance at the spotlight…_

 _No such luck as Potter was able to maneuver his way out of Draco's grip and capture the snitch with an extended hand. Gryffindor wins._

 _The stands were deserted as students headed to their perspective dormitories, either to celebrate or bemoan the passing of the Cup. Draco remained behind and found a seat up in the stands. Daylight was fading fast, turning the sky dusky above the Forbidden Forest. The air was quiet, save for the lone sob that escaped Draco's reserve._

 _He couldn't recall the last time he felt such self-loathing. For weeks, Draco was focused on the would have earned him enough limelight to maybe turn a certain bushy-haired head… but no, Saint Potter had to thwart him again!_

 _His head fell into his hands, pulling the silver blonde locks taut. The humiliation of today's defeat burned a path through him from the inside out and all that patience was wasted; dreams of being noticed by the most unreachable girl in school scattered like his one forlorn sob in the eventide air._

 _Draco felt burned out in nearly an instant and his inner conflicts turned to ash; he pulled his features together into the familiar, cool mask of derision, melting away the lines of vexation. Draco was left with two hardened gray eyes beneath his canted brow and a sneer already in place as he prepared himself to reenter the castle, pulling that shield of icy apathy ever closer._

 _He figured if he couldn't earn her admiration at least he could have her disdain._

 _Better than nothing at all._

Draco woke up sweating. The early morning dark crowded around his eyes and he felt instantly paranoid, as if he was the one being watched. The Granger household was completely shut down. Granger's parents must have come home since the car was now in the lane.

On breath twenty-five, Draco felt calm enough that he could make a rational decision. It was clear from his current state that he desperately needed a change of clothes. And a shower wouldn't hurt either.

He levitated himself out of the tree and after a careful scan of the neighborhood, disapparated back home.

Malfoy Manor was also a buttoned up sentinel as the gray dawn flirted with the horizon. Draco crept across the lawn and entered from the back, hoping he could use the servants' stairwells to access his wing without detection.

He entered his bedroom and shut the door with a soft click, immediately following it with a Muffliato spell. Unless his parents' detection charms had been tripped- which seemed unlikely since he was a Malfoy- he figured he had a solid hour or two to freshen up and gather the shards of his reserve before returning to his task.

The shower was blessedly peaceful as the hot water washed away all evidence of his stake-out. Once done, he toweled off and put on one of his plush robes, a groan of pleasure shattering the silence. The room was dimly lit by the ruby red rays of the approaching dawn, illuminating all the creature comforts that steadied Draco. His elegantly emerald wall-papered walls also boasted an eclectic mix of Quidditch posters and gilt-edged art. His eyes ghosted over his writing desk, quills and ink pots lined up along the back lip.

Part of him ached to hole up in his lavish room for the remainder of the summer, Muffliato charm in place indefinitely, but the Dark Mark nearly burned from expectation and he knew that to truly count himself a Malfoy, it was time to act like one.

Savoring the feel of the gray carpet on his bare feet, Draco strode to his full-length mirror and combed his brilliantly pale gold hair, the Malfoy demeanor falling neatly into place with his handsome, groomed looks. Like ice- cold and impenetrable. He was betting his survival on it.

Collapsing onto his four-poster bed, Draco released a weary sigh. He didn't catch nearly enough sleep but he knew there was no way in hell he was going to try and catch a couple more hours, for numerous reasons.

Only two days in and the task was already more draining than expected. He knew the Dark Lord was keen for information as well as Draco's failure but it's not like Voldemort knew the riotous tenure of Draco's thoughts. So where was the risk other than tipping the bloody Mudblood off?

Draco recalled the feeling of paranoia that washed over him upon waking; perhaps there was some validity to that theory. He sighed again. _Gods, I'm starting to sound like an over-wrought Gryffindor._

After re-dressing in layers of black, Draco inspected his reflection and then nodded, satisfied that he restored those familiar facets of his identity. He crept back out of the house without being noticed. Dawn was in full force outside the house and judging by the rumble of his stomach, it was time for some sustenance as well. The young Malfoy hesitated as he quickly glanced over his shoulder at the Manor; it would be easier to nick food from the kitchens. However, the house elves were bloody blabbermouths… just look at that dimwit Dobby. Irritating presence for his whole life, cowering in his servile position as he tried to please Draco and then freed by helping Potter through that Chamber madness…

Draco shook that dangerous thought loose and disapparated on the spot, leaving wisps of his wondering to dissipate in the morning. He reappeared closer to Granger's town center and figured nicking food from the local bakery would be simple. _Those stupid muggles won't even notice._

As it were, the bakery was the sole shop open at this hour and already, many Muggles were scurrying like ants to and from the bakery. Draco slipped inside careful not to touch these lowly insets. The air was heavy with the smell of sugar and yeast, spiked by the bitterness of fresh coffee grounds. The outsider couldn't help but be a smidge impressed that these lesser beings could make such delicious-smelling things, all without magic.

He spied one man behind the counter, a rather cheerful sort who was red in the face and

ready to burst from his apron. The other occupants were an assortment of customers crowding the front as they waited to put in an order.

Draco sauntered to the coffee station and poured the dark, rich liquid into a paper to-go cup. He added a heavy hand of cream and then picked his way back to a deserted spot toward the back. After scanning the cases, he eyed a cinnamon bun the size of his hand that would pair perfectly with his coffee. Draco was just about to slip his wand into his hand when an elderly woman approached him.

"Would you like anything dearie?" Draco felt himself sneer at the stranger, fairly repulsed

that she felt she could just confront him.

"No," he snapped. "I can get it myself." He made to side step her, frustrated that his play for stealth was now ruined but she stayed him with a hand on his forearm- his wand forearm.

Draco froze, wishing that he could silently hex her and leave the shop without notice. Her grip tightened for a moment as she murmured, "It's okay to need help now and again. You were looking at the cinnamon bun, yes?"

Draco was still frozen, his eyes wide on this muggle who would not let him free. The woman turned to the counter and gestured to the red faced man to package up the cinnamon bun, then she laid some strange papers on the counter. She eyed Draco once more and said, "There now. I hope your day has a turn for the better. Sometimes a little kindness is all it takes."

Draco was ready to hurl the cinnamon bun at the door she just vacated but he knew the old bitch had a point; he could use the help. Nodding to the cheerful male muggle, Draco exited the shop with coffee in one hand and bun in the other. Conveniently a green with a few vacant benches stood across from the bakery.

He sat, then took a bite of the cinnamon bun and savored the fragile, flaky layers of cinnamon-studded perfection. He chased the bite with a swig of coffee and marveled how the bitter, dark liquid complemented the spicy sweetness still on his tongue. It was as if the opposites were only whole when paired together.

Draco snapped his attention back to the town center, now fully unfurling into a buzz of activity. The muggles were still these irritating whorls of dust, clouding an otherwise picture-perfect morning. His final bite of cinnamon bun stuck uncomfortably in his throat as he reflected back on the batty, old woman. He sipped his coffee and tried to project a clinical perspective to the situation.

The woman had no legitimate reason to show any kindness to him, especially considering his initial reaction. However, instead of being repelled by Draco's well-practiced demeanor, she saw right past the mask.

She saw the beast inside. And fed it.

 _What a bloody Gryffindor thing to do._ And yet the statement held none of its usual heat. And obviously none of the usual Malfoy logic since the woman wasn't even a witch.

Draco was startled to find he was back in front of the Granger residence.

Maybe because his thoughts had been plagued by Gryffindors… and women seeing under masks.

This task had already become too much of a fucking drain on his sanity. Why they couldn't bother an idiot veteran with this was beyond him. Inhaling a deep breath of already humid summer air, he snapped his reserve back in place like a rubber band and then slunk to the willow tree.

Little did he know that without the disillusionment charm in place, two toffee-colored eyes were boring into his sneaking form with angry suspicion.


	6. Accidental Reunion

Author's Note and Disclaimer: I hope that you are enjoying this story so far; I must admit that it became a much easier story to write once I had the two enemies together; all that sizzling chemistry! And for that, I thank you Jo. It is all yours, as we all know.

 **Accidental Reunion**

" _We're all so desperate to be understood, we forget to be understanding." -Unknown_

It had been about a week and nothing remotely eventful had occurred since Draco's return to the Grangers. He sent a few superficial reports about her daily movements, all the while the parchment containing her unfinished farewell sat like lead in his pocket. He knew this information would earn him good favor from the Dark Lord but he just… couldn't do it.

For the time being, Draco kept it close to him feeling like the letter was penance for every dark sin dirtying his young soul.

It felt good to be clean, if only superficially.

The sun was bearing down from high in the sky, making Draco extremely uncomfortable in his black layers. He peeked to see Granger was, yet again, scribbling away in a journal. She'd been engaged in that activity a bit lately.

Draco's eyes narrowed to shards of ice. Now that he thought on it, the past week was near consumed with Granger either reading or writing. So bloody predictable… and so much easier for Malfoy to disparage.

She seemed suitably occupied with her head bowed and those chaotic curls crafting a wall of solitude around her, so he stripped down to his black tee. Silently he transfigured the discarded jumper into a cup and produced an Aguamenti charm in hopes of cooling off.

Draco stared and sipped his water. He considered the very few possibilities in front of him. He then considered the very vast realm of consequences that lie at the end of his task.

Baring his teeth in a ferocious grin, he settled his eyes on the prize. That journal would soon be his.

oOo

Wispy willow leaves turned gold in the setting sun of day 8. To his enormous good luck, he overheard Granger's parents explain that they were invited to a last minute medical conference in France. They took off in their car after a hurried packing session and half-hearted farewell flung to Granger over their shoulders.

Loneliness encompassed the house as the night seeped down from the sky, parchment soaking up ink.

Despite being energized for the challenge ahead, Draco felt his emotional barriers shimmer in the growing dark. He clenched his jaw, giving his subconscious a good mental shove, then exhaled in impatient relief as he watched the witch leave her home.

Presumedly for dinner.

Presumedly for who-gives-a-fuck.

He levered his wand, ready to send a levitation charm through the window but suddenly he stayed his arm. _Why just grab the journal when he could enter the Lioness' den?_ It was tempting, too tempting. For the sake of the task, of course.

After he disillusioned himself he headed for the back door; Draco muttered "Alohomora" and grinned as the lock clicked. The kitchen was cast in shadow, layers of grays stacking upon his eyes like wizard photographs. The air vibrated in the same fashion, the edges distorting with perceived movement.

Draco blinked the delusions away and went in search of the stairs. Before he could exit the kitchen, the tall, white box by the doorway emitted a resounding rumble. He let out a yelp of surprise, swinging his wand arm and dropping the Disillusionment as he prepared to attack.

The box didn't move.

Draco narrowed his eyes, curious enough to consider opening the box but when nothing but a constant hum radiated from the corner, he shook off the distraction and passed through the opening.

The house was tastefully decorated, from what Draco could make out. It reminded him of a museum with its expensive knick-knacks and muted color choices.

He shuddered from the familiarity. Finally after gliding silently up the stairs, he stopped outside her room. Even without the door open he could feel the difference; the remnants of magic chased across his skin giving it to rise in goosebumps.

He pushed open the door. Immediately, his chest tightened. As his eyes fell from the slightly rumpled eggplant comforter, to the well-worn pad of the window seat, it was clear to Malfoy that the magic in this room wasn't the only thing distinguishing it from the rest of the house.

Granger's room lived. He ran his fingertips rather timidly over the discarded clothes on the edge of her bed, surprised that some warmth still remained. Draco burned with awful embarrassment and proceeded to wipe his hand roughly against his thigh, dispersing the echo of warmth. shove the clothes off the bed. He pulled in a frustrated breath and was assaulted by what had to be the heady scent of her, that lazy decadence of vanilla and orange filling his nostrils.

Startled by the femininity of it, he cut his perusal sort and headed straight for the journal. Draco worked from the most recent entries and started to scan for useful information. Granger turned out to be not only articulate but poetic as well. It felt like he was wading through a meadow of wildflowers, trying to pick only the brightest and most beautiful. Even though by picking them, it would lead to certain death.

Draco was intrigued to read that Granger was researching why wands would connect, an entry dated around the third task of Triwizard Tournament and Dark Lord's return... Interesting… and it seemed Granger was rather overly sentimental about the dimwit duo's welfare.

He huffed his irritation. It was beyond his comprehension why some houses seemed so bloody intent upon wringing out every possible emotion inside one's person. Starting his scan again, his eyebrows shot up in surprise that little naive Granger mentioned Order names in her entries.

 _Un-fucking-believable._ Really, he was having trouble believing it.

Most names were no surprise, even to a rookie Death Eater, but it would still prove useful to pass on, especially the Ministry contacts. It was up to the veterans to declare the information credible; he was just the messenger.

After several pages of Granger's flowery script on school, on idiot Ginger, on Potter's pathetic inability to handle the Triwizard tasks on his own, Draco's eyes grew wide when his own name sat big and bold on the page.

A red poppy lulling him into a sense of disarmed curiosity.

The entry had him in 4th year at the Yule Ball... _oh shit…_

Dec 24

It's rather late so excuse me if I ramble. This night just won't go to rest until I have it memorialized on the page. The good, the bad, and ugly.

I was immensely nervous about going to the ball, knowing that Viktor had a spotlight on him and I was, well, me. Honestly though, I couldn't help but be pleased by my transformation- just like Cinderella in a sense. Rags to riches for her, books to beauty for me.

And it seemed everyone agreed because there was nothing but murmurs of surprise and kind words. Actually, not everyone could be counted on for good manners… even though I found it in the unlikeliest of places. You see, it was midway through the night when Viktor had stepped away for a moment and I was cooling down along the side wall in the Great Hall. The lights and music had a frenzied edge to them and despite my physical transformation, I still longed for quiet library corners. Suddenly there was laughter from behind and malicious murmurs in voices I couldn't quite peg.

Two bodies crowded me on either side- it was Crabbe and Goyle, alternating taunts. I was able to block out most of what they said except for a particularly hurtful one from Goyle, "Trying too hard to look pretty, mudblood." I thought I was going to crumble on the spot until a third voice joined the fray. It said, "Goyle, you wouldn't know what beauty was if it waltzed right up and asked you to dance. Sod off."

And who is this disembodied voice but Malfoy. _Draco._

He was shrouded in shadows a bit off to the side but in what dim light that streaked his way, the silver of his eyes seemed to spark with heat.

For all I knew, that meant my imminent destruction, delivered personally by him. Once the minions sauntered off scratching their heads at the turn of events, Draco stalked to my side looking every inch of the avenging angel. Black robes, ice blond hair, with eyes that could kill.

I think he did slay for me… if only I knew why the dragon had become the knight.

Draco was sneering in disgust before he picked up on the atmosphere change.

"You know Malfoy, it's not very nice to poke through other people's things," Hermione nearly hummed as her wand touched the side of his cheek.


	7. Concessions

_Author's Note: I must admit that when first posting this story, I thought the only ones to read it would be friends. I've been pleasantly surprised and hope that as Draco and Hermione's worlds collide, you don't hold back on letting me know your thoughts. My beta, JG, certainly doesn't!_

 _Also- praise Harry Potter queen and creator, JKR._

 _PS- This is just a little tease. Stay tuned!_

* * *

 **Concessions**

* * *

" _Vulnerability is scary but pure. In it you can find bravery." -Raquel Franco_

Draco's body tensed with a heady mixture of anxiety and excitement. He couldn't even conjure surprise because this was Granger, after all. Using his peripherals, Draco could see her body shrouded off to the right, with her wand arm unyielding and straight as it jutted into his cheek.

"How long have you known?" he inquired.

"Long enough," she shot back. Her wand was so firm against his skin, Malfoy vaguely wondered if it would leave a mark.

With a grace that would rival a lion's, Draco unsheathed his own wand from his trouser pocket and lifted it to be level with Granger's. They were now face-to-face, although she remained stubbornly hidden in a chest of drawers' dark shadow. A beat of silence as the air fair crackled with untapped magic.

Draco couldn't help but goad poor, helpless Granger. "You wouldn't dare, mudblood. Breaking the law by using underage magic? I don't think so."

The wizard opened his mouth to shoot off a Petrificus spell but Granger surprised him. Again.

His long time rival laughed, rich and throaty. "You have no idea what I would dare. Now, why don't we make this painless and you tell me what you learned?"

Draco narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Granger was flushed from hairline to neckline, her chest heaving with exertion from the tense atmosphere.

"You want painless? I could just obliviate you. Then it's really painless for me. Take what I need and just disappear," he drawled this and allowed his eyes to hover on the window as if to emphasize his point.

The damnable witch was quick to retaliate. She said consideringly, "I'm sure Voldemort wouldn't be very happy with that. Haven't you achieved the complete opposite of what he wanted? Your cover is blown, Malfoy," Granger's eyes did the wandering this time and they landed on his exposed left forearm.

 _Bloody warm weather forcing me to strip._ He watched her forehead wrinkle with the

slightest shade of disappointment but by next blink, it was gone. His wand hand twitched reflexively. Draco wasn't looking for a verbal ping-pong and yet she had him pinned on all sides.

He pondered his options. There weren't many. With deliberate slowness, Malfoy took a step back from Granger, lowering his wand simultaneously. He couldn't tell if her eyes were shining with surprise or victory and the irritation of her sudden unpredictability swelled like a balloon in his chest.

Another moment heavy with silence, it near crushed the capitulation from him. "All right," Draco grumbled. "I call truce." Now with the moonlight having full access to the room, they could see each other properly. Even though their 5th year ended less than 3 months ago, the changes wrought to their individual persons were startling.

Malfoy had shot up, his shoulders broadening and his limbs tight with seeker muscle. His sleek blonde hair had been trimmed so his mercurial gray eyes were large and penetrating on his angular face.

Conversely, Granger had grounded with the tragedies that had stampeded across her life. Draco took a moment to appreciate this new rendition of her. Even with the familiar chaotic curls forming a honey colored halo atop her head, Granger's stature had taken on a slumped, disillusioned quality. And her eyes- they held only a fraction of the warmth and optimism at which Draco was used to sneering.

Sadly, to Draco, it looked like she was one harsh wind away from snapping.

This blatant observation of each other had reached a level of choking awkwardness such that Malfoy cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

"I have a dare for you, Malfoy," Granger said and his attention snapped back to her. "Isn't that what we were talking about earlier," she clarified. He dipped his head minutely.

With a fair show of conviction, the bushy hair witch deftly rolled her wand through her fingers before sheathing it in her back pocket. "I dare you to hand over your wand until we figure this mess out," she stated putting her palm out in expectation.

"You're bloody barking," Draco replied, his body tensing to the point of cracking.

"Listen. I can't trust you as far as I can throw you and we've already established you're to be stuck here for a time. What's your solution?"

"To keep my wand," he scoffed. "And you're supposed to be the genius…"

Frustration hot as fire flared in her eyes and Draco's heart immediately sped up. She turned her back on him- on him!- and lifted her mattress.

Granger looked at him pointedly, grabbed her wand from her back pocket, and slipped it between the bed and frame.

"I won't use mine if you won't use yours Draco." His name carried forward on an exhale of breath, dissipating in the open air and yet hitting its mark like an arrow.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, already feeling his wand hand slackening. "Fuck," he said, this time louder as he aimed a glare at Granger.

"You win this round, Granger," as he strode forward and smacked his hand with finality into hers, relinquishing his wand.

"I intend for it to be one of many," she replied crisply and Malfoy couldn't help the smirk that stretched across his face.


	8. Truth or Dare

Author's Note: The usual disclaimer presides.

* * *

 **Chapter 7- Truth or Dare**

* * *

" _What if I told you sometimes I lose my faith, I wonder why someone like you would even talk to me._

 _What if I told you there was no fixing me cause everybody has already tried."_

 _-If I told you by Darius Rucker_

It all seemed muted in the dark. The sounds outside the house were muffled by the blanket of blackness, while the texture of trees and grass and stone all morphed into the same smooth, impenetrable quality. Inside, the two magicals' movements had become heavy with fatigue, loose without inhibition.

The dark muted everything, especially one's self-restraint.

Draco collected his few meager things from the willow and settled himself on the bedroom floor where Granger had deposited extra linens. She had taken to a relaxed position on her bed; the wands not even visible from where she stuffed them earlier.

Draco assessed the bed, knowing that it was prudent to warm up to the witch if he intended on getting his wand back any time soon; his eyes connected with her across the dimly lit bedroom and her dark chocolate irises seemed to spark with repressed ire.

 _Warm up may be a bit ambitious._

With a slight grin, he conceded to her. "I'm surprised at you, Granger." Draco let the comment stand, trusting her overbearing nature to step in.

She raised her eyebrows with a mixture of disdain and reluctant curiosity. "How did I surprise you," she asked.

Draco looked away and quipped, "You're holding me hostage and would have used magic against me, despite the risk. Tell me, Granger, did you trick your parents into going away on that conference as well?" His long frame leaned up against the wall, relaxed, even while his eyes shone with curiosity.

"I didn't technically bargain with you. I coerced," Granger retorted. Draco's slate gray eyes snapped up to her, now overflowing with skepticism.

"Very Slytherin of you but I don't get coerced," he said then circled back to his initial observation. "I'm still curious how you managed to get your parents out of the way."

She pushed up from her repose; the wild, brown tangles of her hair obscuring half of her face which only made the glare she was shooting at Draco look comical.

Granger crossed her arms and lifted her chin, every inch a prefect. "It just so happens that my parents leaving was a coincidence and killed two birds with one stone."

She laughed when his face scrunched with confusion and instantly, Draco felt a hot wave of embarrassment wash over him.

Here he was, heir to one of the most noble Pureblood families, sitting on the ground with a makeshift bed strewn around him. Meanwhile, the mudblood who has been a thorn in his side since the start of Hogwarts was perched comfortably atop her bed, consumed by joy.

 _How bloody dare she laugh at me? I'm a Malfoy. She should be the one on the floor… on her knees, groveling for leniency! She's never taken me seriously. She's going to start now._

As her laughter subsided to little bubbles of mirth popping from her mouth, Draco gazed from hooded granite eyes, contemplating what should come next.

"It's your go," she said lazily, as if she had no clue she plucked the thought right out of Draco's head. He suppressed a shiver and instead curiously tilted his head in at her. A smile unfurled on her lips, a shot of sunshine in the dark of night. "I see," Granger stated, "It's a muggle game which is why you're unfamiliar with it, yes?"

"What are you talking about?" he snapped.

"Truth or dare. I dared you to hand over your wand and you did. Although it may not seem like it, you actually won that round in a sense."

Malfoy's heart started thumping in his chest like he was 500 feet in the air on his broomstick. This game she was talking about would most likely be disastrous… but if he played it just right…

"What are the rules?" he queried. Granger beamed at him again and he ground his teeth. She was too bloody open with those smiles, as if she were trying to flood the world with light.

"We each take a turn asking the other to give up a truth or perform a dare. If they perform the task successfully, they win the round."

"Is there a grand prize for winning the game?"

Granger's smile turned mischievious as she replied, "That could be arranged."

The air in the bedroom grew heavy; Draco wasn't sure if he wanted to throw it off his shoulders like a burdensome blanket or clutch it closer as a shield.

"Name your terms," Draco rasped. He rolled his shoulders subconsciously, feeling like a noose was tightening around his neck. His hand found the edge of his tee which was damp from sweat; Draco was near ready to gnash at Granger when she finally spoke up.

"I want an entire day of unconditional honesty from you. And I mean unconditional." She stared at him as her voice carried across the quiet room, firm and intent like a cast spell; the noose around Draco seemed to cut off his breath.

 _I refuse to fucking lose._

"My terms is a no-questions-asked favor," he replied. Draco remained unflinching in his gaze, impressed to see the only sign of her possible discomfort was the way her hands fisted in the comforter. The minutes spiraled outward. Draco remained cool and collected while reclined against the wall, hands in his pockets.

Suddenly, Granger shifted to the edge of her bed, the coffee color of her eyes more visible as the moonlight hit her face. "It's your go," she repeated.

Draco broke eye contact and exhaled shakily. Mind racing, he was inclined to just shut her down immediately with the letter in his pocket but after a few steadying breaths, Draco reminded himself that impulsiveness had him currently sitting on scratchy Muggle sheets.

 _Patience. Patience and a dose of provocation._

He intertwined his fingers and brought his hands behind his head, threading them through his pale locks. Draco relaxed his face and questioned, "Truthfully, Granger, am I the first boy to be in your bedroom?"

She bristled as the skin visible to Draco's eyes flushed an unbecoming red. He full-on smiled and puffed his chest out a bit when she gritted, "Yes, Malfoy. How brilliant for you to be the one to have that honor." Granger rolled her eyes sarcastically and countered quickly. "Tell me if this is another first for you- the great Draco Malfoy having to sleep on the floor."

Draco was momentarily startled by the sound of his name on her tongue until the sting of her challenge pricked his ego.

 _Damn mudblood and her quick wit._

Draco's voice dripped ice in reply. "Yes, Granger. Indeed another first for me. A short-lived one for sure." Silence returned to the room, the air considerably cooler even with the humid night breezes rolling through the curtains. Already, Draco was regretting wiling away the hours in this fashion, even though it will earn him that prize. Pale lips twitched; his motivation was now revived but it was important he played these moves to his advantage.

Reaching inside his trouser pocket to unveil the letter, he leered victoriously as her eyes widened in shock- and was that a shade of betrayal?

Malfoy blinked and shook his head, assuming the lack of light was playing games with his mind. "Give me another truth," he stated.

Granger stared at him as if turned to stone. Time stalled as she sat there, unmoving, to the point that Draco's blonde brows rose in impatience.

Granger's lips parted slightly, the whirring of her brain almost audible across the room. She looked on the cusp of withdrawing from the whole game- much like he felt not minutes before- but instead her voice floated to him on a whisper as fragile as morning mist.

One swipe of his hand and it would disintegrate so he sucked it in, oxygen to his suffocating soul.

"That was low, even for you." Granger's eyes slid away toward the chest of drawers, preoccupied with the visions on the inside of her head. "This should be pretty obvious. The tenor of the wizarding world has shifted, making it more vulnerable for me and by extension, my parents."

Steadying inhale, trembling exhale. Granger's lids fell closed in an attempt to keep the emotion from spilling out. "They don't understand because I- well, I've kept much of the past 5 years from them. There was no point involving them. They're involved now anyway. Because we are blood." Her eyes shot open and zeroed in on Malfoy with renewed anger.

He countered, "What, exactly, was your plan? To leave the note and run to the Weasel's? Send them packing somewhere safe?" Draco scoffed with cynicism, practically rolling his eyes.

"It's none of your business!" She said, more strongly now. Granger was rigid and upright in the bed, her hands fisted on top of the blankets. "You wouldn't understand what it's like to sacrifice for your family!"

Malfoy's shoulders locked up from the pressure of not railing at her. She nearly steamed from all that self-righteous anger and yet ignorance cloaked her, hiding the truth. Naturally, he could feel the familiar ice harden up his features as he glared at her.

"Oh really?" Malfoy enunciated. "I wouldn't understand? Understand this, Granger- nowhere is safe in this current world!" Draco stepped back from the bed and caramel colored eyes that sparked with fury. Turning toward his pathetic pallet on the floor, he muttered unconsciously, "And no one is either."

In the hollow silence that followed, the two unwilling companions retreated inside their minds. Self-destructive thoughts and poorly learned assumptions sat lurking, anxious to attack the tenuous truce. The impassioned heat flared out of Granger, leaving her body loose and her eyes demure and downcast. In the few hours spent together, Draco could see from his passive observation of her that she clearly lacked the ability to artfully regulate her emotions; they played like a song across the planes of her skin and he inherently longed to memorize it.

 _No. Impossible. Forget it._

Malfoy had much more practice in concealing his tumultuous thoughts. Being a Malfoy has taught him to grow from the chaos and project an air of composure; now, though, given such an ideal situation, he refused to be distracted for more than a few minutes. Or to allow her attention anywhere other than him.

"You've ended up a fucking loner by allowing them their ignorance." Malfoy dropped the observation like a grenade and waited for the inevitable explosion.

"Takes one to know one."

Boom. And there it was.

Draco didn't even know he was looming over her until her warm breath was fanning his cheeks. His finger was in Granger's face and even though it was a dead giveaway to the nerve she hit, he refused to cower behind a curtain of shock. Those brown eyes had darkened to espresso steeped in wariness and his extended arm ached to reach out and wipe the anxiety from her eyes. Instead, the muscles just twitched with awareness of the performance they must maintain.

Malfoys don't soothe.

"Don't ever presume you know who I am. You don't know me," Malfoy gritted through his teeth.

She fell backward on her hands, their torsos at a precarious parallel. He was tempted to take hold and shake her, as if he could shake loose all the inaccurate theories rolling around in her head. They were like detached explosives that she could drop at any time and use to obliterate him.

"You won your round," he said. Then he moved back and settled in his temporary corner of the room, throwing a blanket over his body and closing his eyes. He cringed at the foreign scent cocooning him, a distinct reminder of his current status.

A hostage in enemy territory.


	9. Magic vs Muggles

Author's Note: I took some liberty with the historical accuracy of when iPods were invented, for the sake of the story. Also, as always, the world is all Rowling- I'm just playing around in it for awhile.

* * *

 **Magic vs. Muggles**

* * *

" _All your actin', your thin disguise_

 _All your perfectly delivered lies_

 _They don't fool me- you've been_

 _Lonely, too long" -Dust to Dust by Civil Wars_

Morning broke on them like a thunderstorm; the sun drenched Granger's bedroom with buttery summer light. Malfoy stretched his cramped limbs and then peeked over to find the bed empty.

He scowled. So much for waking up on the right side of the bed.

The smell of rashers was filtering through the cracked door. Draco's stomach grumbled in response. It had been days since he had hot food and pride wasn't going to keep him starving. After making himself presentable in the bathroom- a term used loosely considering he was being held hostage- Draco found Granger about the kitchen. Rashers were plated with toast on a dining table, little dishes of butter and jam placed in line.

He smirked while she cracked eggs into a skillet and then watched her lightly dance over to the squealing electric kettle. "Well, aren't you cheerful in the morning," he noted, casually leaning back on the door jamb.

She spared a distracted glance over her shoulder and then attended to the eggs, sprinkling unknown ingredients into the pan. "Why don't you make yourself useful and prepare the coffee or tea?" she directed.

He stared at the kettle as if it were a torture device. "Seriously? You can't afford someone to do all this for you?"

"That's rich coming from you, Malfoy. You don't afford the house elves that cook your meals; you enslave them." Granger said this as she reached around him for two mugs and a canister of black grounds. Draco didn't even feel compelled to retort because not an ounce of accusation laced her tone. "Is coffee all right?" she asked.

He snapped from his reverie and nodded, discreetly watching as she measured out spoonfuls of the earthy coffee and poured it with the hot water into a press. Balancing the press, sugar bowl, and creamer, Granger made her way to the table then proceeded to finish the eggs.

Malfoy took a seat in silence as the insufferable enigma in front of him deposited a few fried eggs onto his plate. The two silently filled their dishes, the fresh grassy scent rising from the eggs confusing Draco such that when Granger moved to pour his coffee, he snapped.

"What are you playing at? Is this some elaborate scheme to poison me so I'm out of the way?"

"Such a typical Slytherin," she snorted humorously. "That's a bit diabolical. I just assumed if I was going to eat breakfast, you might as well too." Granger then took an exaggerated bite of her eggs, arching her brows in challenge.

"You're not unfamiliar with being diabolical, Granger," Malfoy grumbled as he took another curious sniff of the eggs. Shrugging internally, he forked them in with a bit of rasher and was grudgingly pleased to note she added parsley and dill to the eggs.

 _Damn Muggles and their manual cooking skills._

For awhile, the two munched on their butter-drenched toast and sipped coffee- both cups with a heavy hand of cream; he refused to acknowledge that she took it the same way as him. As the breakfast drew to a close, so did their bubble of ignorant bliss. Granger cleared away the plates while the weight of last night's memories started to cause a thumping in Draco's head.

"So," she began with that grating tone of self awareness, " a dare shall be quite invigorating this morning."

His head pounded ten-fold even as an odd buoyancy was spreading through his food-fatigued limbs. With narrowed eyes, he tracked Granger as she walked to the back door, grabbing a mysterious chain off the wall. "Are you coming?" she asked before opening the door.

Draco shrugged his shoulders but unfolded himself from the chair. Like the flow of water, his uninterrupted movements pulled him to full height while he seamlessly pushed in the chair. From head to toe, Draco was a model of contrasts; he was still clothed in his black tee and trousers which made the alabaster expanse of skin nearly glow.

Granger seemed confunded on the spot.

 _Ha! Perhaps I am talented enough to perform wandless magic. Confundus via sexiness._

He made to follow Granger which snapped her from her woolgathering. Turning to go outside, Draco just caught the way her bottom lip disappeared between those pearly whites. He felt like he already won the round.

Meanwhile, Granger had moved on to the solitary car left in the lane, used the mysterious chain on the door, and proceeded to open it with a grand, sweeping hand gesture.

"Care for a ride, Malfoy?" she mildly taunted.

His traitorous body hummed at the idea of a different ride entirely. He sneered at Granger, simultaneously digging his nails into his palmsto gain self-control.

"This is your dare? Did you expect me to be scared of your muggle contraptions?" Draco scoffed, burying the wariness in his quicksilver eyes.

The laughter melted from Granger's face, leaving behind serious eyes that darted quickly to his left forearm. "Sadly," she reflected, "There's not much I expect from you." She turned away from him and walked around the car, entering it from the opposite side.

Draco scowled at the open door, a clear invitation though he wasn't sure to what.

 _Granger wouldn't just make this a car ride. If she could, this would become a no-escape inquisition._

Scratching idly at his left forearm, he strolled his way over to the car and folded himself inside knowing that it was too early in their little game to forfeit.

Granger flipped her riotous curls back from her face as she started the car. The concealed space in front of Draco's folded limbs vibrated with an ominous roar; his eyes widened in evident panic as Granger willed the car out of the lane.

She glanced over at him and said, "You should put on your seatbelt."

"What the fuck is a seatbelt," he snapped, while gripping two relatively solid pieces of the car.

She huffed then reached across Draco for a strap dangling behind him. The heat of her arm seared Draco, the warmth gathering in his stomach as she deftly maneuvered the strap into some locking mechanism. "That is a seatbelt. Would you like to take a stab at what that means," Granger gibed, her frame again within the confines of her seat.

Draco snorted, not deigning to reply to her condescension. He instead turned his focus out the window, where the view was shifting from houses and muggles to fields and eccentric creatures. They were wispy, white puff balls that looked like clouds as they mingled in the verdant, swaying grass. It was surprisingly soothing to Draco as the scenery distracted him from the gathering speed of the car but then, Granger started to natter.

"Those are sheep. Muggles use their wool to make clothing."

A brief, wondrous pause. He blinked slowly at her.

"You can milk them as well. Most people use the milk to make cheese."

Another moment of silence, too short to appreciate.

"The muggles out here survive -" but Draco cut off the nonsensical narrative.

"Is there a point to all this, Granger?" He turned his head to look at her, grateful that her brown bird's nest was pushed back from her profile. _All the better for observing._ Granger's cheeks suffused with pink and the muscle in Draco's cheek twitched in response.

"I'm just making conversation," she prattled, following the unconvincing statement with another of those tell-tale pauses. His lips thinned with barely restrained annoyance as his darkening irises bore into Granger's profile.

She sucked in a fortifying breath and plowed forward. "Considering the situation we've been thrust into," she sliced a glance at Draco, "I don't see the problem with interacting in a relatively neutral way. You never know what could be learned from this perspective."

He laughed bitterly. Granger pressed on something with her foot and the car quickened around the curve, causing Draco's heart to climb his throat. He swallowed the panicky exhilaration, then twisted fully towards Granger while bracing his position with his arm locked on the front of the car.

He hissed, "You think you're real fucking cunning. And less than an hour ago you were mocking _me_ for typical Slytherin behavior," Draco's hand connected hard with the car's interior, the pain singing along his veins. "I'm not the dimwit duo; you can't lead me into learning something from you, especially since there is nothing you could teach me!"

The car was traveling at an alarmingly swift speed but Draco's focal point was the crystal clear vision of Granger in all her crotchety glory.

"There's quite a bit you could learn but you refuse to expand your view past the walls of Malfoy Manor! I've already proven that I'm quite knowledgeable about some of your nuances."

He groused back at her, "Are we back to that loner babble again?" She neither confirmed nor denied it; Granger concentrated as she sped the car faster down the winding lane while the scene outside blurred to resemble the hazy smoke of crystal balls.

Draco pressed on, the tightening muscles of his arm revealed bulging veins and a bothersome mark. "After all this time, I don't know how you could mistake me for some toady Gryffindor." His speech had slowed to a drawl but the sneer on his face was colored green, even as he tried to keep the envy from his voice. "You can't turn me into a perfect copy of your precious Potter. I'm a Malfoy, for fuck's sake."

A screech split the air as Granger brought the car to an immediate halt. The occupants breathed heavily into the closed space oppressive with ire. She turned to look at him, fiery amber eyes with the ability to melt steel gray.

"Yes, you're a Malfoy. But first, you're Draco," Granger persisted.

It took every ounce of willpower for Draco not to hurl himself from the car and head back in the direction they came. He would even welcome the walking; anything would be better than listening to Granger try to riddle out his life in her irritatingly logical tone of voice.

With carefully calculated movements, Draco turned back in his seat so only the profile of his inflexible features were visible to Granger. The sound of his name on her lips walked the twin edge of benediction and curse; he thought about asking her to obliviate him just so he wouldn't have to endure the reverberations of that memory echoing around his brain.

The silence had gone on for far too long and he knew Granger could be a tenacious little witch so Draco leveled his voice and said, "I've done your dare. You can provide a truth on the ride back."

Leaning forward, Granger attempted to make eye contact but Draco's gaze was distant on some unknown point out the window. She sighed resignedly and started the car. Granger directed it at a more sedate pace on the route back, the repetitive hum of the wheels on the road like a lullaby.

Draco's immovable body relaxed minutely into the seat even as his mind raced on. The present situation was all at once frustrating, frightening, and fascinating. In the rare time that a moment of relative peace was afforded him, Draco berated his usual razor sharp focus which should be on retrieving his wand and getting the fuck out of the house.

 _And yet…_

He was theoretically fulfilling the Dark Lord's orders, albeit in an unconventional way. Draco's eyes slanted toward the princess of unconvention herself. She, too, slunk behind her mask; the impossible-to-tame curls blocking any view of Granger's current mood.

The possibility to slake his curiosity and also gather information for the task was too much to resist. Draco crossed his arms and speculated out loud, "Why haven't you gone to your boyfriend's house already?"

Granger's head whipped around as the car's speed decreased dramatically.

"What are you talking about?" she exclaimed after she recovered control of the car.

"Truth, Granger."

He turned his head to watch the play of emotion on her face that he couldn't help but find utterly satisfying. Especially when that emotion was consternation.

"Well," she trailed off, her lips puckering with displeasure, "I've told you how my parents and I have been distant since I practically started at Hogwarts. Lack of common ground, I suppose."

Granger paused and inhaled shakily. "As unpredictable as the world is becoming, I had hoped to spend some time with them in case-" her voice cut out, the pain of the topic sharp like the end of a knife.

Draco waited rather patiently considering his Malfoy upbringing and was rewarded when she added, "-and he's not my boyfriend." An odd thrill worked its way through Draco's insides at the statement.

Houses were blurred specks on the horizon. The no-escape inquisition he had dreaded was drawing to a close and yet the idea of exiting the car held no appeal.

 _Might as well push my luck._

Draco snorted with derision. "I'd be embarrassed to tie myself to him too, Granger."

Remarkably, her hair puffed with renewed agitation. "Shut it, Malfoy. If anything, Ron would be embarrassed to tie himself to me. That is, if he saw me as more than a friend," Granger mumbled this last bit, realizing too much had been revealed.

The concession brought on by his goading served like a rebounded curse; Draco felt unnaturally backed into a corner by her divulgence with no hope of responding correctly to Granger who had blushed herself motionless.

Suddenly, the ever-closer houses were a relief.

They arrived back at the Granger residence and exited the car without further conversation. Upon entering the back door, Granger quickened her steps across the tiled kitchen and turned on Draco.

The physical distance traveled up her body resulting in stiffened posture and hardened irises.

"Truth," she started, "mind telling me what information you've passed on to Voldemort?"

Draco felt the ice slip down his spine at the use of that name. He considered lying but felt he didn't have much more room in his life for dishonesty and there were bigger lies yet to tell.

"There hasn't been much to report, prior to seeing that journal. You lead a pretty boring life," Draco taunted. She stared back, unfazed by his attempt to deflect. Malfoy sighed and wondered for the hundredth time why he had to be stuck tailing the bright one of the bunch; Weasley would have been ignited by the insult and propelled off course.

 _So much for small mercies._

"Honestly, Granger, the most specific piece I relayed was Saint Potter's movement on the 14th." Her tawny complexion paled at his admission. The slightest trembling entered her body, creating shallow little breaths to erupt from her chest.

"You read my letters! But more importantly that means- he could… and Harry isn't safe; the Weasley's aren't safe! I need to-" she rambled until Draco cut her off impatiently.

"Relax Granger! He's not interested in Potter. Yet. He's interested in you." At that foolish comment, her eyes went wide with bewildered fear. Malfoy strongly considered grabbing the nearest utensil to jab his own eyes out rather than clarify that statement.

 _Bloody hell._

"I didn't mean it like that," he fumbled but she was without mercy.

"Honesty or nothing, Malfoy. I have no space in my life for your half-ass version of kindness." Draco moved to the table and collapsed in the chair while his hand found the roots of his pale locks and pulled. Fiercely. She was a mirror with every impulsive word that spilled from her mouth and he hated it, hated the way it twined the most insubstantial connection between them.

So, in response, he sprawled in the dining chair, at complete odds with her rigid stance as she tapped her foot with increasing speed. He quirked his mouth innocently.

Granger stalked out of the room, her brown hair the last thing he saw before her stomps on the stairwell echoed into the kitchen. There was nothing for it but to follow her. Malfoy reached the top of the stairs with a renewed, confident bounce to his step until he saw her, seated at her desk studying the journal. He dared not make a sound, hoping the significance of the entry it was left open to would remain hidden in the silence, where all other dangerous, unspoken things dangled unrealized.

He knew this task would cause trouble; if only he had been sent to track Weasley… that at least had the prospect of ending with some bloodshed. Draco moved discreetly to his makeshift bed, affecting an idle position as he viewed Granger from hooded eyes. She seemed frozen by the words in front of her.

The most shameful paranoia flushed his body and he felt like his pale white skin must be glowing as red as a summer sunset. He grappled for words to distract her, knowing that she would overanalyze the information to death but she beat him to the punch. Draco thought it could be possible that he left here with a self-esteem problem...

 _That would be if I gave a fuck about what the mudblood thought._

"Why do you hate Harry so much?" she asked. Granger's eyes found him over her shoulder, the irises taking on a curious, cautious glint. The silence stretched. "You don't have to answer; I've already asked for my truth but…" she hesitated, her mind clearly torn on whether she should venture further.

She did, indeed. "But I couldn't help but make certain assumptions as to why you have such a low opinion of Harry."

Grey eyes steeled in defense. "I don't owe you an explanation," he gritted. Granger stared overlong, the swirl of emotions in her eyes nearly melting his reserve.

Too quickly, they dipped back to the journal as she replied, "No. I guess you don't." Shuffling for a book on the shelves beside her desk, she returned to a crisp attitude. "I need to do some reading so you'll have to amuse yourself for a few hours."

Draco blinked, then scowled. "Wait- what? How?" Granger grabbed a small device from atop the desk and tossed it in his direction without looking.

"This should keep you pretty occupied," she answered. The small box landed in his lap. It was smooth with what appeared to be buttons along the side and face. Attached was a thin cord with two circular orbs hanging from the end.

"Unbelievable," he grumbled while turning the device in his palm. "A Malfoy waiting on a Mudblood." The screen glowed as his thumb ran curiously over the face button.

Granger remained studious and silent in her seat.

The little screen had words inked across it, including various symbols he didn't recognize. His eyes automatically read the phrase "Fix you" and a word that mysteriously stated "Coldplay". A noise started vibrating from the little orbs so he gave into his curiosity and brought them to his ears, noticing that they fit nicely into the shell.

He couldn't believe he was being lowered to muggle entertainment. If he were honest, a hundred diversions would be available to him were he at home.

His last logical thought was that all of them would have bored him to tears.

oOo

Hours passed. An impromptu tea was scattered on her mattress, cooled dredges with uneaten sandwich crusts.

Granger read, having moved to a more comfortable recline on the bed while Malfoy alternated between napping and listening via the little circular buds. The room had become a pleasant cocoon where the ill-paired housemates exuded a strange sense of contentment in the setting sun's golden light. Draco felt like all the music he'd listen to drowned out the perpetual drum from fear-inducing thoughts, giving way for all those fantasies to break the dam of self-preservation.

Without thought, his eyes slanted to Granger. The breath caught in his throat momentarily; she was a mess with the way her frizzy hair framed her face. In the warm fading light, she was a golden-hued piano where he could tap out the beat of the music along her tanned skin.

Something foolish bubbled up inside him. There had been too much sentimentality that afternoon and it was making his brain go soft. He needed to stop these thoughts immediately. Eject them from his head. Light them on fire for good measure.

So he blurted out the first relatively safe topic to cross his mind.

"How are magic folk and muggles equal?"

The witch almost fell off the bed, as startled as she was by Malfoy's question. Her eyes swung up to him, filled with questions of her own but Draco refused to give up control.

"Humor me, Granger," he said with his typical smirk. "It is your truth so explain- how is it that you believe them to be equal?"

Not surprisingly, she jumped at the opportunity. _Eager little Gryffindor…_ it made him want to vomit. Her body swung around in the chair, her torso arching with enthusiasm in Draco's direction. He suppressed the shiver of awareness that raised the pale, fine hairs on his neck.

Granger cleared her throat in preparation for her speech. "Well," she considered, "let's start with the iPod in your hands." He glanced down at the device, instantly puzzled by the name she referred to it by. "Don't worry about its name. Just know that muggles used their kind of magic- technology- to create a device that holds thousands of songs that you can carry in your pocket and play at will."

Draco was almost diverted by that information as he marveled at the notion that such a small, innocuous box could carry so much.

"It doesn't even weigh anything," he said. She sent an amused smile in his direction.

"Data isn't weighed in the same increments as, say, books. Although we could argue that books carry a weight of their own that's immeasurable by human standards." Granger's eyes took on a glassy quality, resembling the toffees his Mom would send during his early years at Hogwarts.

Clearing his throat to bring attention back to the present moment, he countered her example with disappointing ease.

"So muggles can invent things? Big deal. Wizards are just as capable with perhaps the edge that actual magic brings." The pale wizard dramatized a flippant flick of his wand to denote his point.

Granger opened her mouth to dispute but ended up scrunching her face in consternation. The distance and comfort of the bed were forgotten as she crawled across the floor, stopping less than a foot from Draco. He stiffened, then pushed himself to an upright position, all manner of sophistication vanishing as he crossed his legs.

"What about the music itself?"

He looked at her blankly. "What about it?"

"Well, there's magic in the words, the combination of notes," she remarked. He rolled his eyes, feeling the heat of frustration infuse his limbs as she failed to clearly deliver her argument.

"Wizards got music too, genius," Draco condescended. A little huff of breath left her mouth, disturbing the curls dangling by her chin.

"I understand that," Granger enunciated, "but Muggles have a way about speaking of things in their music that just… move you. You've been listening for hours- you didn't feel anything remotely like that?"

Her eyes found his, froze them. Warm brown warring with arctic gray.

He lied right through his teeth. "No, I didn't feel a thing. I've just been bored out of my mind."

After a moment rife with suspicion on Granger's end, she still refused to cede victory; she plucked the music box from his hands and ran her thumb along an invisible circular track, simultaneously piercing Draco with a pensive stare. When she was satisfied, she told Malfoy to place one earbud in his ear. Then, Granger cautiously scooted closer to him to place the other earbud in her own ear.

Their faces and bodies were parallel, carefully not touching. She cleared her throat. "I'd like you to listen to this song and at the end, honestly say whether or not you were moved."

It was like a heartbeat in his ears before the lyrics began.

"It's not your eyes

It's not what you say

It's not your laughter that gives you away

You're just lonely

You've been lonely, too long

All your actin'

Your thin disguise

All your perfectly delivered lies

They don't fool me

You've been lonely, too long

Let me in the wall you've built around

We can light a match and burn it down

Let me hold your hand and dance 'round and 'round the flame

In front of us

Dust to

You've held your head up

You've fought the fight

You bear the scars

You've done your time

Listen to me

You've been lonely too long"

At this point, Draco's mind blanked as it frantically scrambled to throw together a wall before the barrage of emotions battered at his weakened defenses.

 _Damn her. Damn her and all her bloody, tenacious, anger-inducing attempts at emotional entrapment._

Of all the emotions he ever felt for Hermione Granger, none felt so pure or intense as the hate that coursed through Draco's veins at that very second. He gathered it into the center of himself, much how he imagined an Unforgivable would feel like, ready to unleash it as the song dimly came to a close.

Granger's eyes fluttered in his direction, already glassy with guilt. The beast inside Draco let out.

"You clearly have a death wish," he murmured lethally while chucking the earbud at her lap. "That's all I can gather," Draco's voice grew as he came up onto his knees to lend his height to the threat. "Because if you think for one second that song unlocked some epiphany then you're not as smart as everyone thinks you are." He pulled in a hot breath as he glared and towered over her. "In fact, you're fucking delusional!"

Draco yelled without moderation, desperate for some normal reaction from her to reset his equilibrium.

Granger was trembling below him, her eyes now locked on the late afternoon sun that was partially blocked by his inadvertently cast her in shadow which left Granger's emotional response to his tirade a complete mystery to Draco. His focus was so intent upon her face, intent upon determining if the two of them were back to status quo, that it took a moment for Draco to recognize the feathering along his arm to be her fingertips. Granger crept gently up his forearm and past his elbow. It was a relentless, gentle journey and his traitorous skin reacted, rising to greet her like an old friend.

Her hold turned firm as she gripped his upper arm; the witch pulled herself to be level with Draco so that their opposite shoulders brushed with every breath. Granger's lips aligned with his ear and he couldn't even break away, so shocked was he by her atypical behavior.

The breath fell delicately upon his ear, like the promise of a kiss, and it was beyond Draco's control when his eyes fell closed.

Unable to hide the tremble that rippled through her body, Granger whispered, "Do you feel that? That is not exclusive to magical blood."

He felt it, that barely there shimmer wreaking all sorts of havoc on his carefully constructed ideology and he wanted so badly to just lean into her and surrender to his baser instincts' demands.

But recognition of such a thought had him stumbling back to the floor in shocked disgust. The gravity of the situation crashed in on him, waves of lust and revulsion and a bone-aching guilt. She had dared to cross a line that she had drawn between them years before, a line that had been fortified by his own self-preservation. Clinging to the last of that self-respect he railed at her, "You're not going to convince everyone in the wizarding world of that tripe."

Granger had stood once he stumbled back onto his bottom and was halfway out the door when she paused. "No," she mused, "but I may convince one, though."


	10. The Melting Point of Steel

**The Melting Point of Steel**

* * *

" _When you throw dirt, you lose ground." -Texan Proverb_

Hermione's eyes opened. Her body ached from the unfamiliar mattress that she took refuge on last night.

She simultaneously stretched and groaned.

In the weak light of the approaching dawn, Hermione burrowed deeper into her parents' comforter in an attempt to escape the sweep of embarrassment. Her body flushed red; for once, her remarkable memory was a curse as it played last evening out in vivid detail.

The unexpected challenge from Malfoy… the resultant discussion and confusing moment of contact…

The flush covering her body burned red for an entirely different reason.

Hermione threw the blankets from her body and inhaled deeply. The sun slanted through the opening in the curtains and hit her bare feet. All of her belongings were secured in her room where a certain Slytherin git was likely still sleeping.

An impatient sigh escaped Hermione's lips. When she had formulated the plan to catch Malfoy she thought she had anticipated all the risks. Her memory replayed the moments from last night and her fingers tingled in response.

Apparently, she forgot one risk- some unresolved, adolescent feelings.

Hermione's feet hit the floor as she stretched the nighttime aches from her body. As much as she wanted to meet Malfoy on equal ground, she couldn't gather the courage to enter her room for a change of clothes.

 _As if it would matter. He finds me beneath him anyway._

She involuntarily blushed at her choice of words. The urge to crawl back in her parents' bed and overanalyze those memories on repeat in her head was strong… very strong. Hermione sighed resignedly, knowing that such a scenario was impossible.

 _It's time to greet Malfoy and the day._

Hermione strode to the door and opened it quietly. Tip-toeing to her bedroom, she laid a gentle hand and ear on the door and listened.

Only silence.

She made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen. As early as it was to be starting breakfast, Hermione concluded that if she hoped to escape the tumultuous tenure of her thoughts then her mind needed to be occupied elsewhere.

 _Breakfast was as good a place as any to start._

She banged the pot overloud on the cooktop determined to keep her inquisitive hands to herself.

oOo

It was another lonely morning for the pale-haired hostage. When Granger didn't return after her dramatic exit, Draco contemplated getting a comfortable night's rest in Granger's bed but one whiff of those citrusy sheets had him bolting back to his meager pallet. He had woke to find the bedroom still empty but clearly not the house based on the banging that echoed up the stairwell. Draco fisted both hands and dug them into his eyes.

A headache was coming up fast.

While annoyance mixed with mortification in his chest like a volatile potion, Draco willed his mind back on the task at hand. It could be the death of him if he continued to get distracted… no matter how diverting the distraction.

 _Fuck no. Focus you ass._

He stretched the last of the sleep from his tall frame, then his eyes fell on the journal still opened on Granger's desk. Draco full-on grinned.

 _Ever the trusting Gryffindor._

He peeked at the door and strained his ears for confirmation that she was still downstairs. When the sound of dissonant racket reached his ears, Draco chuckled and positioned his body so that his back wasn't fully turned to the door; he learned his lesson last time.

That damnable entry met his eyes while a frustrated growl vibrated in his throat. Draco had thought his cultivated demeanor flowed more naturally the older he became. Like breathing, he figured it to be effortless by now. Alas, nothing was perfect as the evidence was inked in front of him. This shitty task had him discovering all the little fissures in his self-made shield and alarmingly, the light was getting in.

One could be tempted to bask in it, indefinitely.

Draco flipped the journal pages harshly, the force of it almost causing a rip. He started at the beginning and did a quick flip through the entries. Much of what he glimpsed prior to 4th year was rather dull; no mention of Harry, the Dark Lord, or even typical teenage twitterings about love interests.

Not even rants about rivals.

The cold sweep of disappointment chased across Draco's skin like a precursor to a sickness. He rubbed his arms idly while his mind calculated that too much time had passed since his last report. He was going to have to outwit Granger and get hold of his wand.

Draco's eyes wandered back to the journal. _Why stop the outwitting there? The journal's been helpful...why not extend its helpfulness past my time in Granger's proximity?_

More than his mind twitched at the thought. He figured he could work a charm on the journal so it would share the contents on another blank surface unsuspectingly.

For once, he was grateful for his father's militant instruction in wandwork during his early years. Yet again, he was in need of his wand. Desperate for it, actually.

Gray eyes flashed silver with awareness; the room was empty save for him which left the bed free for searching. Draco strode over and lifted the mattress without ceremony. He snorted with derision to find the wands predictably tucked between mattress and frame.

 _Gods, Granger. Do you know who you're dealing with?_

He snatched his wand, relishing the feel of magic alighting in his blood as if revived from its short-ish nap. A shaky breath of relief passed through his lips and his wand arm twitched with enthusiasm at the feel of regaining a symbolic appendage.

Striding back to the journal after a cursory glance at the door, Draco itched to put all that pent-up magic to bloody fucking use.

He retreated into his mind and meditated on the spell required and then exhaled as he incanted, "Gemino." With a quick flick of his wand, the duplicate journal shimmered out of thin air, worn leather stuffed with all of Granger's private ponderings.

Draco closed his eyes and concentrated this time on a spell that he wasn't very confident with.

He sure hoped he didn't fuck this up.

His forearm was perpendicular to the original journal when he opened his eyes and carefully dipped his wand to make contact. The gray irises darkened from hesitation the longer he stared so after clearing his throat, Draco intoned, "Duplicati descriptus." At the last moment, his arm turned so his forearm ran parallel to the journal.

Silver smoke curled up in delicate spirals from the book's surface with Draco's wand hovering just above to absorb the wayward wisps.

When complete he moved his hand to the copy, the bare length of his forearm still parallel to the twin journal. "Revelio absconditum," Draco commanded while he swiftly turned his arm perpendicular with the book.

His heart skipped a beat as smoke leeched from the wand, the nebulous mist staining the book with its inexorable caress.

The success of the spell complete swelled in Draco's chest. He hadn't felt so in control since before the task began. Giddy like the first time he caught the trio out of bed after curfew, the now older and wiser Slytherin stowed the book away in his small corner, curious to pour over its contents in greater detail.

 _It had to have more than just a few words on me. Does being a Malfoy mean nothing to her?_

The smell of hot, delicious breakfast assaulted his nostrils and pulled him from his reverie.

 _Time to greet Granger and the day._ He lifted the mattress to place his wand back but was diverted by a folded, worn piece of parchment tucked beneath Granger's wand. Malfoy replaced his but removed the parchment, curiosity taking over for the hunger previously rolling his stomach.

Opening the yellowing edges, he noted it looked to be a letter. _Did this girl do anything but write or read?_ Draco sighed heavily but then scrunched his eyes, noticing that the handwriting was unfamiliar.

Dear Herm-oh-ninny,

I am with pleasure that we have kept in touch this year. The stress of fame is not something many people know how to handle. You, though, have experience, yes? Mr. Potter as a friend and now with graciousness, you extend that kindness to me. Please, Herm-oh-ninny, I would ask that you come to visit this summer. Bring your parents, of course, and have holiday in Bulgaria. It is important to me that we reignite our friendship, a conversation I would like to have with your father as well.

Awaiting your response I am always, a loyal friend,

Viktor Krum

The parchment fluttered from Draco's now-sweaty hands and onto the bed. Those last two words seemed to block out years of carefully-learned discipline; for he knew with deadly certainty that if it suited his current purpose, he would incendio every fucking piece of paper in her room.

Barring that journal.

Draco vacillated between gut-numbing jealousy that had his mind seizing under the pressure of not conjuring detailed visions of Krum and Granger together, and a healthy dose of skepticism that she had ties in Bulgaria, of all places. Draco pressed his stomach as if he could eject the envy by sheer force. Before the emotion could run rampant, he retrieved the letter and snuck it back to its original hiding place, mulling over the potential significance of Granger's Bulgarian buffoon.

 _Seriously though, how close are they? He can't even spell her name right; that alone makes him not worth her time. No matter that he was my favorite Quidditch player not two years ago._

Nevertheless, her connection to Bulgaria was exactly the kind of information he was there to seek out… and truth or dare left opportunity for him to fulfill both brands of curiosity.

Malfoy took a step toward the door intending on finally making his way to breakfast but was disgusted when he felt his clothes stick to his sweat-slick skin. Dismissing the notion of proper etiquette, he stalked directly to the upstairs bathroom and started the shower. He stripped, stepped inside, and released a groan of pleasure as water droplets traced paths of cleanliness down his form.

Draco deliberately inhaled with a slow pull through pursed lips. On the exhale, he infused steel into his fingertips, then let the feeling spread along his arms, torso, legs and then back up to the torso for extra fortification.

Today he was steel. Cold and inflexible. A fucking Malfoy.

Opening eyes he didn't realized fell closed, Malfoy scanned the shower enclosure for some type of soap. He lifted a bar nestled in a built-in alcove but almost dropped it when he inhaled that familiar scent- summertime citrus wrapped in vanilla. Quickly replacing it, Draco grabbed the second nondescript soap and was grateful to find it unscented.

He finished the shower soon after and slipped on his last clean shirt, the long sleeve he stripped off the day Granger caught him. It was that or raid the muggle father's closet.

Draco rather be naked.

He strode down the steps toward the kitchen, unyielding in his purpose. A scene almost identical to yesterday morning was playing out in the kitchen with one very key difference- Granger had retreated to her subdued, slumped form. She was nursing a cup of coffee while the breakfast stayed warm under covered dishes.

Her eyes lifted when he entered the room. With a tentative clearing of her throat, she gestured to the spread. "It's a token of peace. I fear I overstepped my bounds yesterday even though it's, well, you." A fortifying inhale cut off her explanation then, "Especially because it's you."

Draco's brows shot up in mild bemusement. He put his hands in his pockets and gripped the fabric while he drawled, "Care to tell me what that means?"

Granger's reserve caved in and she was instantly blocked by her nest of chestnut curls. A full minute of silence passed and then another; Draco tugged the loose threads until they started to unravel.

Better that than his mind.

Granger flipped her hair over her shoulders and gestured to the seat opposite her as if a chasm of unmentionables hadn't just opened up between me.

She smiled tentatively although her gestures became more punctuated. "Malfoy, why don't you sit and we could start breakfast? It's my turn at Truth or Dare as well."

Draco continued to stand, asserting control.

Granger defied it by huffing her impatience and striding over to him. Without an ounce of hesitation, she wrapped her hand around his forearm and tugged. It was an exact echo of yesterday and even with the extra layer of clothing separating them, Draco's skin hummed with awareness.

Briskly, Granger deposited him in the chair opposite hers then uncovered the dishes. She fixed his coffee unprompted. He felt like pouring it all over her head.

Draco reined in the adolescent impulse and sipped begrudgingly. Only a few bites into the lukewarm porridge and rashers, Granger shattered the silence with her ill-placed curiosity.

"Truth, Malfoy- why did you help me at the Yule Ball that time?" Granger continued to spoon dainty bites of porridge into her mouth while Draco nearly choked.

He cleared his throat only to realize the lump that was blocking it was not food; it was dread. Granger put her spoon down as their eyes locked across the intimate space. He narrowed his eyes and blinked slowly at her, preoccupied over if he could decipher the motivation behind this question.

 _Anything to procrastinate answering the bloody thing._

She folded her hands in front of her, stretching her arms so that only a few centimeters stood between her fingers and his. He drummed the table idly, absurdly hopeful that she would press her luck.

Draco watched Granger's eyes fight to dramatize detachment but the curiosity in those chocolate brown irises was too strong. Yet, it was the startling discovery of eagerness that had Draco's hands freezing mid-tap.

 _Could she really want the real explanation to that story?_

Granger prodded him with a forefinger. Eyebrows slightly cocked she questioned, "Are you going to answer or forfeit?"

Draco scowled. He shoved back at her entwined fingers for causing little currents of energy to sizzle along his nerves.

Crossing his arms despite the look of petulance it afforded him, Draco leaned in and crowded the already full table with his broadened shoulders.

"Your date," he punctuated this with a brief, dubious widening of his eyes, "had abandoned you. Of course I was going to call off Crabbe and Goyle." He took a bite of rasher and sipped his coffee, an air of intensity enveloping his precisely controlled frame. "Speaking of" Draco continued with forced nonchalance, "I'd like to talk about that date of yours."

Granger pulled back to recline in her chair, presumably to put space between the two of them. The damnable witch ignored his statement as she was intent to wring Draco dry of every last, dirty detail from that day.

"Viktor didn't abandon me, Malfoy. He had stepped away for drinks as a gentleman would do."

Granger stared while Draco stewed over the fact that she deliberately used Krum's first name.

"Besides" she continued, unaware of his inner angst, "it was the way you called them off. You complimented me."

"I actually insulted them." He seized the unconscious tapping that had started in his left leg, impatient for Granger to be satisfied and drop the subject.

 _Weasley would sooner cease eating._

Granger inhaled for round two. "Well aren't you a wizard of words. To think the glib Draco Malfoy could simultaneously insult and compliment." She rolled her eyes before returning to a more serious mood.

Granger's position shifted as if she were approaching an erumpent and the idea that she anticipated an explosion immediately raised Malfoy's hackles.

"Just spit it out, Granger, so this bloody round can be over. I have my own questions" he bit out.

Granger spoke softly, "I don't think it was coincidence that I caught you looking at the entry about Yule Ball."

The slightest tick indented his cheek. He mimicked her tone, "What do you think it was, then?"

Discreetly, she dropped her eyes to an unknown point on the table. "I think you saw your name in your long-time rival's journal and couldn't help but be intrigued."

Draco put down his breakfast things with slow, rigid movements then divulged, "I think the label as long-time rival could be debated." He immediately swept out of the chair to stand in front of the sink window, missing the look of confusion to ripple across Granger's face.

"I believe it's my turn now," he stated, the finality of his tone lying to rest all that came before. Granger worried her bottom lip between her teeth but granted him a small nod.

He allowed his eyes a brief pause on that lip before focusing on the unfinished breakfast. "Truth, Granger- do you keep in contact with your illustrious past date, Viktor Krum?"

Incredulous laughter filled the room. Granger swiped at a tear of amusement before responding, "That was a long time ago."

She smiled at him, a bit sadly, while she pulled at the cuff of her pajama sleeve. Refusing the dim light glowing down that dark and dangerous memory lane, Draco turned his head slightly so that he wouldn't get the full impact of her inquiring eyes.

"Are you going to answer my question?" Draco pressed.

"I did answer you," Granger said lightly although her stare was hard and searching as it bore into the profile of his face. "Viktor and I stayed in touch after he left Hogwarts at the end of the tournament. He wanted to keep up our friendship."

A blush crept up her neck and suffused her cheeks with heat.

Similarly, Draco felt heat turn his neck hot, like he ate too many Pepper Imps, but what he truly was digesting were Granger's half-hearted admissions.

Draco's stomach rolled with embarrassment, a feeling he was coming to know too well. He pressured Granger anyway, desperate for viable information that wouldn't make this 'truth' a total waste.

"I doubt it was just a friendship, Granger. You two were quite cozy in your corner of the library."

She frowned. "It was just a friendship in the end. Where are you going with this?"

Draco turned the full force of his condescending stare on her while he internally fought the green-eyed monster. "Have a hard time holding onto the boys? I imagine it's that mouth of yours." A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as predictable, little Granger bubbled over like a potion gone wrong.

She vaulted right out of her seat yelling, "Who do you think you are? It's none of your business who I date!"

Draco scoffed, not even affording her a glance. "It became my business when they abandoned you to your own reckless devices."

He strode to the table to take a sip of water, the liquid proving mildly soothing to his frayed nerves. At this close distance, it became much harder to remain stoic when the full force of Granger's disapproving gaze latched to his own. It oddly felt like he was being reprimanded by his mother; yet, the idea of Granger wielding that kind of control over him only reignited his ire. He pushed up his sleeves haphazardly in an attempt to cool off.

The kitchen had gone eerily quiet with only Granger's heaving breaths as evidence of their argument. Her wand hand flexed sporadically while the magic she was longing to release sparked on the ends of her hair. And her face… the last time Draco saw her with that face was in 3rd year right before she punched him.

 _I'm bigger now and she's without a wand. There's no way she can hurt me._

"And is it Lord Voldemort's business as well? What are you, his errand boy?" she hissed.

He hated it when she proved him wrong. It made Draco see red.

With a swipe of his arm, the breakfast clattered onto the tile kitchen floor. Granger had dropped back in her seat in shock so Draco shoved the table away to loom over her, positively pulsing with anger.

'You don't know who the fuck I am," Draco spat.

"Neither do you," she bravely eked out as she trembled from the force of keeping her body still. Draco turned uncontrollable with rage.

"You stupid bitch, can't you let it go? This is a game we're playing. It doesn't mean anything." His breath tumbled out of him urged on by the accelerated rate of his heartbeat.

And still she sat. Slouched and submissive. Utterly un-Granger-like. And still he refused to back down.

Malfoy crouched on his knees resolved to see her eyes, even if it meant he had to touch her. She suddenly stilled when he came into close proximity. The air had turned hot, heavy with all the hostility weighing it down; he could just make out the sheen of sweat on her half-concealed cheeks.

Draco tempered the volume of his voice, instead infusing it with icy malice. "This has all been a joke for me, you know." He said this softly, like passing a secret. "Did you know that?"

Granger still hadn't moved as if she was turned to ice by the cold words falling from Malfoy's mouth. He planted his right hand on her thigh and used the left to tilt her chin up; their eyes clashed in the way a wave falls down upon the shore. Unruly gray bearing down on abiding bronze.

The dark mark was angled so that it leered sickly up at them, a stark reminder to both of who Draco Malfoy was.

With their eyes fastened, Draco repeated the question. "Did you know that it was a joke?" The silence enveloped them as their eyes waged battle. Neither wavered.

 _It seemed ice nor fire would force a verbal submission from Granger._ So, Draco returned to fire because not much was as satisfying as all-consuming heat in your veins even if it could melt steel.

"Fucking answer me!"

His right hand squeezed her thigh a touch harshly, only then exposing the intimate position they were in. Draco's mouth started to water from the feel of forbiddeness under his fingertips but before he could do anything foolish, Granger snapped.

"No! I don't need to fucking answer you just because you're being an ass!" Malfoy reeled back as if he were slapped. He never heard Granger curse before and the shock of it sent him right onto his bottom.

 _Bloody wonderful. And I'm supposed to be the one in control._

Draco scrambled to his feet and hastily wiped rasher bits off his black trousers and shirt, striving for that air of superiority he possessed at the start of this verbal battle. He willed the steel to return to his back, to his head and heart but Granger beat him to the punch. She was bloody good at doing that, despite his years of practice.

She rose from the chair, simultaneously shedding the trepidation that had her previously glued to the seat. Draco's jaw fell slack at the sight of her, undignified in her matching pajama set. She was a dozen shades of amber from her bed head to her bare feet and for a breath, just a half second, he could acknowledge that Granger was indeed attractive.

Well, until she opened her mouth.

"Why don't you try to be nice for once?" she retorted, delicately sniffing the air. Granger had crossed her arms and glared him down. "Let's try it, shall we? I dare you to compliment me."

The answer rolled automatically off Malfoy's tongue without any real thought required. "You're intelligent," he said permissively, not even bothering to make eye contact with the bossy witch. Malfoy was so concerned keeping his tone neutral and his tall frame nonchalant that over a minute of silence had built steam between them before he turned his eyes back to her.

The look that met his was kaleidoscopic; a swirling, sifting mess that shimmered from disappointment to frustration to sadness to another half dozen emotions Draco felt overwhelmed by. He never let his own feelings play at the surface like she did, as if her person thrived on the tidal wave of emotion that rose behind her fierce, caramel-colored eyes.

 _Her Gryffindor is showing. Only they would be foolish enough to reveal all that vulnerability._

Malfoy was about to say something before that tidal wave drowned him but she broke the silence, the words a knife cutting right to the bone.

"That's all everyone sees… my intelligence. Like I have nothing making up my person but my big brain." Granger's eyes crystallized as a single feeling coalesced to the forefront. The resentment colored her voice dark, bitter, strong. "All I'm asking is that one bloody person would be able to use their brain and point out something else that is positive about me."

She deflated like a popped balloon and as all the air rushed out of her, tears tumbled soon after.

The buzz of irritation was heating up the back of Draco's neck, likely turning the alabaster skin an unflattering red. He couldn't believe he had somehow been maneuvered into this humiliating position of having to compliment Granger.

Ripples of resentment started to spread from Draco's chest. He wasn't sure what the hell Krum was doing when he and Granger were together but the fact that enemies were depended upon for flattery meant Krum failed abysmally.

Truly, it was madness. This mudblood pain-in-his-arse turned her nose down on him like he was an insignificant flobberworm while Krum got rosy tints and tenderness.

Draco reached up and pressed at the base of his skull. It was not time for nagging thought spirals; he needed to straighten out and perform the bloody dare. _It's for the cause,_ he chanted in his head while nimbly running through his wealth of knowledge on Granger in order to pick a suitable compliment. There had to be a safe, harmless one.

 _Fuck. I need to just be superficial and get on with it._

Draco cleared his throat to draw her attention. The tears continued to fall and were starting to speckle her shirt.

"Granger," Draco tried, internally cringing at the softness in his tone. Her attention caught, Granger raised her eyes to him- her "long-time" enemy- with something akin to hope lighting those honey irises.

The steel inside him disintegrated.

"You're too strong to be giving a damn what other people think about you," he grumbled roughly. Her eyes widened. The tears behind them stalled. Yet now that Draco had started, he couldn't stop the words from flowing; they were toffee on the tip of his tongue.

"For being the brightest witch of our age, you can act incredibly thick-headed sometimes." He exhaled, irritated. "The only person you got to prove anything to is yourself and after 5 bloody years of classes with you, I think you've done so. Then some."

In response, Granger started to sob. She collapsed back into the chair, crying noisily into an already soaked pajama top. Her eyes fell closed which left Draco at a complete loss as to what was going on. _Merlin's beard. It's like these girls don't even know what they want._

Draco rubbed his temples, vexed. Her crying was drilling into his head and he could feel the revival of a brutal headache. Apparently, whatever ground he hoped to recover today was scattered with the remains of breakfast on the kitchen tile.

He shuddered as the initial plan rearranged in his mind. The acquiescence tasted sour in his mouth but the sooner he pushed through, the sooner he could go back to retrieving pertinent information.

And get some food in his bloody stomach.

Dragging the rubbish bin over, Draco started to clean up the mess that he made. He grumbled while doing so, not the least bit amused that this was perhaps the first mess in his life that he personally cleaned up. In front of a muggleborn, no less.

A full blown scowl twisted Draco's face. With the mess nearly cleared, he went to the sink and washed his hands free of sticky porridge, crunchy rasher bits, and cooled coffee.

He's been ending up dirty far too much for his liking.

The kitchen looked a touch better except for the convincing resemblance to Moaning Myrtle that seemed completely oblivious of his chivalrous act.

Draco sighed. He didn't understand how this wisp of a girl, a bookish brat, could so thoroughly dismantle his best laid plans. _Utter rot,_ he berated himself for being driven by that volatile mix of jealousy and intrigue in the first place.

Krum was at some distant spot in Bulgaria. Granger was not some covert connection between the two. She was just complicated.

He hovered his hand awkwardly over her shaking shoulders and said, "All right Her… uh, Granger. I'll stop being a git. At least for today." A half laugh- half sob bubbled up from the crying, causing an unseen smile to ghost across Draco's lips. His stomach grumbled in protest to the tenuous truce that was being spun.

It took a bit of searching but soon he was seated in a chair back to back with Granger, green apples in their hands with salvaged coffee in the others.


	11. End the Masquerade

**Chapter 10- End the Masquerade**

* * *

" _Don't get too close, it's dark inside; it's where my demons hide." -Demons by Imagine Dragons_

Draco and Granger munched their apples in silence with only the occasional slurp of coffee disturbing the new calm that settled over the kitchen area. Before long, the apples were eaten down to their cores and the mugs drained; Draco contemplated sneaking away to the bedroom if only to give the fresh companionable compromise a chance to breathe.

"I'm going to go read or something," he announced to the room in general, before heading toward the stairs. Granger suspended his escape.

"I don't think so," she said. Draco could hear her determined tread across the kitchen floor as she caught up to him. He inhaled swiftly as she entered his line of vision like a force of nature. She stood so close to him that he felt almost sucked in by the vitality of her.

 _Almost._

"If I get a relatively non-git for the day, I expect to take full advantage." Granger maneuvered past him and traipsed up the stairs yelling, "Let me get changed!"

Draco scratched absently at the raised tattoo on his exposed left forearm. The call from the dark side was insidious in its insistence for unquestionable loyalty to the point that Draco feared too many steps off his shadowy path would leave him lost and left for dead. Granger's movements vibrated from the ceiling, pulling his attention upward.

 _Then again, when was the last time I could just be?_

Draco struggled to conjure a single recollection.

Resolutely tugging his sleeves over both arms, Draco turned in time to see Granger walking toward him. She was wrestling with the wayward curls that fell from the pony swishing down her back.

"Shall we get on, then?" Granger queried, pulling the car keys from their hook by the door. She jangled them cheerfully and exited to the back lot. Draco slid his hands in his pockets and followed at a more sedate pace, closing the door behind him.

The August sun was still low in its trek across the sky, momentarily blinding him. The heat was no less penetrating; Draco felt immediately uncomfortable in his usual uniform of head-to-toe black.

Granger had started the car by the time he folded himself into the seat, grumbling at the fact that the summer heat was even more stifling in the small enclosure. He mumbled, "Is there any way to make it feel less like we are trapped in a fiendfyre?"

Granger twisted a few knobs and -like magic, he thought wryly- cold air blasted out of little slats built into the front of the car.

Draco raised his eyebrows and then stretched his hands experimentally toward the cool air. "How does it work?"

Granger peeked to see what he was referring to. Speculation colored her voice, "I'm not well-versed in cars. I know that there's liquid in the engine called coolant that I believe mixes with air. They get compressed together somehow and I think that's what results in the air conditioning." She copied his motions, inhaling a breath of respite as the cold air grazed over her fingers.

The car moved past the bakery, the town green, even the library that Draco recognized from his first days on the task. A larger crowd of muggles were meandering down the walkways than the last time Draco had visited the town center, their colorful but weird apparel causing his face to crease in distaste.

 _I miss my robes. I miss what defined me as different and so, inherently better._

Draco looked surreptitiously at Granger who glowed in her cherry-red sleeveless tank and tan, fitted trousers. Quicksilver eyes traced the exposed skin at her neckline down to the subtle curves at waistline. It was only the squeak of the wheels that alerted him to their arrival... _arrival to where, exactly?_

"What is this, Granger?" he asked, still irritable that his private perusal of her was interrupted.

"Now Malfoy, I thought we agreed to get along the rest of the day," she scolded lightly, while turning the keys and then her body.

She looked as if she just unwrapped a first-edition book.

"I thought it would be nice to spend the hot, summer hours in an air-conditioned movie theater," Granger smiled at him and motioned to get out of the car. The odd pair walked side-by-side to a central booth where a bored muggle teen was reading a magazine behind glass.

"Excuse me," Granger said, pulling an odd-looking money pouch from her satchel. The muggle remained immersed in his reading material. She cleared her throat and repeated herself yet the muggle made no move that sentient life existed beyond the glass.

Draco clenched his fist and banged roughly on the glass. The speckled-face male looked up, startled. "It's impolite to ignore a customer," Draco gritted. He stepped back slightly to position himself behind Granger, crossing his arms and glaring at the idiot.

Granger shot her own glare over her shoulder, backhanding his arm almost playfully before returning her attention to the befuddled boy.

"Hello. Two tickets to Monty Python," she said and handed over a bunch of papers. The muggle hastily pushed some paper back, his eyes darting to Draco with unconcealed apprehension. Granger murmured a thank you and then entered the nearest door; Draco followed without giving the muggle another glance.

The foyer of the theater, as Granger called it, was considerably cooler than outside, as well as dimmer. Pallid, yellow lights glowed from old fashioned mounted lamps with two dark hallways flanking each side of the foyer. A few muggles mingled at the opening of the hallways but Granger led them to a back counter boasting a variety of food items.

Draco was so busy inspecting the brightly colored packages that he missed what Granger ordered. She shoved two drinks into his hand and ordered, "Follow me."

"Granger!" he yelled, attempting to grab her arm but he missed as she strode down the nearest dark hallway, bushy ponytail the only discernible part of her. He caught up with her. "Hey!" he called, the warning rasping his voice.

She jostled the large container of some unappetizing snack food and sighed. "Malfoy, the movies are something that is best seen rather than explained. Come on." With her free hand, Granger opened the door to their right. They walked in together, pushed close by the narrow confines of yet another dark hallway. Draco could hear noise up ahead but was struck dead when an enormous screen with moving pictures came into view.

"Follow me," Granger whispered into his shoulder. "We need to find seats."

It was only his well-cultivated discipline from years of growing up amidst unpredictable circumstances that had his feet moving forward without conscious thought.

Granger found them two rather uncomfortable seats toward the back of the dark, cavernous room. Once settled, she leaned over the armrest to whisper in his ear. The breathy explanation curled into the shell, sending little shivers down the center of his body.

 _Granger and me. In a dark room. It's like fate is fucking with me._

"Don't think too hard on the logistics. Just think of it as a book playing out in front of your eyes," she advised.

He scowled. As intriguing as the contraption in front of him was, he didn't want a lesson in muggle culture.

"For the love of Merlin, Malfoy, check your ill-bred beliefs at the door. We are going to have a normal day."

"Normal for who?" Draco muttered; then loud music drew his eyes' focus back to the screen where the 'movie' started. It was a bit jarring at first but soon Draco relaxed into the hideous, cramped chair and followed along with the story.

Between laughs, Granger shifted to Draco's side and silently offered some of the snack in the container although he was appalled to watch her hand sink wrist-deep into the stuff. He tentatively grasped a few and was instantly put off by the greasy feel of his fingers. With no other way around it, Draco popped the few bites into his mouth.

The rich taste of butter and tang of salt blossomed on his tongue as he crunched through the airy morsels. He was instantly addicted.

Granger laughed again and then glanced in Draco's direction. "It's popcorn," she commented. "Watch the movie; you're missing the funny parts!"

Her brown eyes flashed with mirth before she returned her attention to the screen. Draco followed along with the ridiculous plot, more drawn by the unchecked emotion that flashed over Granger's profile. He found the so-called knights to be incredibly foolish, not unlike two Gryffindors he knows.

The tantalizing taste of popcorn proved more attention-grabbing. When the container was nearing empty, Draco's questing hands found Granger's foraging fingers. He immediately jerked his hand out of the container and refused to eat any more popcorn after that.

The room was dark and relatively peaceful; Draco stretched his legs in front of him and imagined how he could improve upon this invention. He cracked open the drink Granger bought and found himself pleasantly surprised by the sweet fizzy liquid, reminiscent of butterbeer.

 _That helped._ Granger was giggling into her own drink. _That could be a perk too._ The movie and Granger's subsequent reaction made for entertaining viewing all around, the movie's benefits only magnified by the fact that it kept Granger from talking for extended periods.

Too soon, the lights above them stuttered to full brightness. Granger looped her satchel over her shoulder, crumpling the popcorn container in one hand. "That's the credits. All over," she smiled through the observation, seemingly relaxed.

They were the last two to leave the room and enter the foyer. Other movies were also ending as streams of males and females, paired together, exited the theater. Momentarily jostled by the bright lights and buzzing activity of the foyer, Draco reached for Granger's shoulder in order to keep track of her. Her shoulder only stiffened slightly at his touch and he secretly marveled at the smoothness of skin and minute breakthrough.

Midday heat served like a slap in the face, rendering Draco dizzy while the shining sun exposed the fantastically-spun but fragile hiatus in which the two of them just indulged. It was a delusion suspended in reality.

As enjoyable as the afternoon had been, he couldn't forget... forget the many facets of Malfoy, all illuminated in the harsh summer light.

 _Wealth, Pureblood status, plus a decade of breeding steeped in traditions- this is what it means to be a Malfoy. All of this muggle trash is beneath my notice. She can't captivate me._

Draco released her shoulder, almost regretfully, as they reached the car.

Hermione felt exhilarated while she climbed behind the wheel. Monty Python was an old favorite of hers, one that she watched regularly with her parents. The car rumbled to life and she concentrated on backing it out of the parking space before turning to Malfoy.

"What did you think? Not bad for muggles," she joked. Hermione felt the pleasure of the afternoon expand in her chest almost to the point of pain. She hadn't felt so distracted from worry since her last weeks at Hogwarts had been filled with diversions of a more devastating nature.

Department of Mysteries… Sirius' death… Harry's overwhelming grief… all had left Hermione crippled. The ever-growing rift between her parents and her left Hermione depressed.

So for the pleasure of the afternoon- with Draco Malfoy- to be so uplifting? It's no surprise that it also came with a case of butterflies.

"Feel free to share your imposing observations anytime," Hermione attempted again,

hancing a glance at her stoic passenger. Malfoy was preoccupied with pulling his short, blonde locks, his eyes clouded over with contemplation.

Hermione continued to drive in silence. She allowed her mind to wander to what they should do for dinner when Malfoy broke the silence. "It's a place where muggles bring dates," he stated without doubt. Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

"Sure," she ventured. "It's also a place to go with friends or family."

His gray eyes cleared and slid toward Hermione, causing her heart to speed up. Malfoy's gaze was piercing; she felt like the riotous emotions rolling around inside her were about to spill out from the pricks left by his gaze. _Time to shift the attention, I think._

"What about the movie? And the popcorn! I imagine you never had it before," Hermione paused a moment and when silence abounded, she lapsed back into her disquieted babble. "Monty Python is one of the movies I watch with my parents. There are a lot of references to muggle literature that we like to talk about after the fact."

More silence; Hermione swore that Slytherins needed it the way the rest of humanity needed oxygen. She clamped her lips together like a vise, determined not to embarrass herself with impassioned, verbal outpourings.

Malfoy released a rather dramatic sigh. "The movie was fine, Granger. The popcorn was more than fine." He cleared his throat. "Now will you cease your prattling?"

Hermione drove the rest of the way home, quiet. The bubble of pseudo-companionship just popped, leaving her pathetically drenched in the truth.

 _Draco Malfoy's a Death Eater prat. He is also my hostage. I'm Hermione Granger, best friend of golden boy, Harry Potter. The two of us have always been oil and water._

Her meticulous deduction resisted this last thought; the afternoon jaunt to the theater and even the hours spent reading and listening to music in her room proved that even oil and water can emulsify under the right circumstances.

 _When those circumstances revealed them to be just a boy and girl._

Hermione pulled into the carpark of her home. She turned and looked at Malfoy, startled to find his eyes already on her. Letting her eyes rove over his face, Hermione noted the silk-fine fringe of his blonde locks pushed back from his forehead. She traced the angular planes of his cheekbones, down to the unyielding jaw line. Hermione gulped as her searching gaze landed on his lips, the palest pink.

They parted when Hermione's gaze didn't move. She immediately shot up and clashed with his eyes, the one place on his face where all color coalesced.

For the briefest moment, Hermione felt suspended in the gray of his eyes that had momentarily darkened to thunderclouds. _Just a boy. Right now he's just a boy._

Malfoy broke eye contact. He rolled up his sleeves and scratched the Dark Mark agitatedly. "Is the day done yet?" he asked.

Hermione sighed and cast her eyes downward.

 _Thank Godric for Malfoy bringing us back to reality._

"Why don't you go inside? I'm going to go back out and get us some dinner."

"Whatever," he mumbled while leaving the car. Hermione watched as his long legs ate up the distance between the car and back door, his strides purposeful. Malfoy's left hand flexed and fisted, likely longing for a wand.

 _No. He's certainly not just a boy._

Hermione's hand instinctively moved to the door handle; it could be disastrous to leave the cunning snake alone with both wands. The humid air was sticking in her lungs. She choked on the heat while considering her options. The mountainous pile of evidence supporting Malfoy grew in her brain like bramble, prone to cut her.

She turned the car on to allow the movement of cool air which removed some of the pressure from her chest. Malfoy was no boy but he also wasn't pure evil. For the time being, the wands could be considered safe.

Hermione wasn't sure if she could claim the same for herself because if there was

anything Malfoy got right that day, it was the fact that she really didn't know who he was.

oOo

It was three cups of crappy coffee, one and a half reasonably interesting books, and three pathetic meals of apples and cereal later. Specifically 24 hours later… 24 very long hours without any sign of Granger.

She left him at the house to go seek out dinner; Draco found it a welcome relief at the time after the scary, companionable afternoon spent together. He got curious five hours into her disappearance, anxious when he was alone the following morning, and at present Draco felt downright desperate.

He needed his wand before someone came looking for him. It was time for the task to end, although he balked at the idea of leaving without a trace. Draco finished washing his dishes from afternoon tea- a chore he was starting to find terrifyingly therapeutic- while he reflected back on all his alone time.

Late into yesterday evening, Draco lost the facade of conscience and began sifting through Granger's room. She had books tucked everywhere; under the bed and pillows, little precarious piles on the floor near the window seat. Most were by muggle authors although he did come across a section dedicated to former magical textbooks. He also rifled through drawers of clothing, including a particularly fascinating one with an assortment of brightly colored underthings.

 _Well, well, well Granger. I'm piqued._

Draco spent far too much of the twilight hours suppressing images of Granger in said apparel so much so that the growing bulge in his pants ached for release. _Absolutely fucking not._

After finding nothing significant… for the task… Draco plucked a couple of books from her muggle stores, justifying the choice that after scanning the textbooks repeatedly for his education, he'd be damned to bore himself by reading them again. Draco then settled in her window seat to wile away the solitary hours. Occasionally he'd shift his long frame into a more comfortable position and the remnants of her scent would waft up from the upholstery. Absorbed as he was in his reading, Draco would pull in the sweetly laced air and carry on in near blissful ignorance.

Now, 24 hours later, there was no bliss or ignorance to be found as Draco tossed the dish towel onto the filled drying rack. The desperation swelled to uncomfortable proportions, making Draco's skin itch. He resisted the impulse to go looking for her and instead, stalked to the family room in hopes of discovering a distraction.

The front room of the house held little appeal before now, being such a glaring reminder of his own home life, all ornamentation and pruned to perfection. Draco slowed as his eyes sought the only evidence of life the room had. Muggle pictures stood in militant line on the fireplace mantel though the frames were far from coordinated. A thick wood one held a picture of the Granger family laughing as they stood barefoot in sand. A wispy, metal box contained two pictures with the parents posed in formal clothes and a child-size Granger beaming at something beyond the lens.

Draco thought on the portrait gallery in his own house; it was a dark, narrow hallway with life-size moving portraits of the entire Malfoy lineage. His father used to take him down the hallway in order to quiz Draco's knowledge of the legacy he was expected to carry forward. Even with the addition of movement imbued in his magical ancestors, there was no life to be found in that corridor. His eyes and attention trailed back to the Grangers' photos, finding one in a sparkling frame that showed Granger with her eyes closed, holding a book in absolute rapture.

There was no light to be found down his portrait gallery either.

Draco was so absorbed in the photos that it took him a full minute to recognize that the air had become redolent with glazed oranges. He pulled in a fortifying breath and affected a mask of boredom before he turned to face Granger.

She stood in the archway and by the look of determination heating her eyes, the peace and quiet of the past 24 hours was about to evaporate. It was as if she hadn't just disappeared for an entire day. Strolling over, Draco draped himself in the wing chair by the window in preparation for her tirade. The late afternoon sun was starting to stream through and it hit his slightly mussed hair, reminiscent of melted butter on Yorkshire pudding.

Granger opened her mouth to launch into her rant but froze, seeming preoccupied by the vision Draco cut in the bay window frame. Before he could suppress it, those sickening stirrings of lust and intrigue coiled tight like springs. He contracted his muscles in response and cleared his throat, grateful that it sounded impatient and not desirous.

 _As if Granger could be truly desired… bookish brat._ Then, as an afterthought, _Fucking mudblood._

The noise was enough to break Granger from her reverie. She snapped back to that determined stance, all five feet some inches of her, and she let the verbal storm rain. "I think it's past time that we had a _truthful_ conversation about what you plan to bring back to Voldemort once I let you free." She punctuated this sentence with a delicate raise of her eyebrows, the tawny irises looking wide and expectant at Draco's relaxed form.

He mirrored her features and warmed when she huffed her irritation, stalking to poise herself on the edge of the pristine couch. Granger's hands entwined in front of her pulling the focus of her eyes away from her reluctant house guest.

"Malfoy," she near pleaded before raising her eyes back up to his, the better to trap him with. She repeated his name like a benediction. "Malfoy, I know I have no right to ask you these things. It's been just a game between us. I have hardly any leverage and not a speck of your good will." Granger's voice turned wry and brittle at the remark. Her stare had pinned Draco to the armchair. The building tension from the entirety of their time together was distorting the air; it was thick in his throat and charged as it entered his bloodstream. Draco felt altogether heady and confunded by this bossy, belligerent, unpredictable excuse of a task that had plummeted him into the depths of his mind where all those out-of-bounds, black thoughts resided.

During all this turmoil Granger had droned on. Draco felt his focus crystallize once again when her voice trembled with fear. "Do whatever he expects of you. There's clearly no escaping that but please… just let me know what I'm about to be up against."

Draco didn't think he could hate Granger anymore than he already did but every time she opened her mouth, she aimed to kill. And if she didn't, it just made her superior aim that much more frustrating.

The hard things bore repeating, though, and she had wisely reminded him that there was no escape; so, perhaps, he could make things interesting at the very least.

Granger had moved from the couch to directly in front of the armchair; she dropped to her knees and rested her hands on the arms, boxing him in as she chased Draco's focus. "Malfoy. Draco... what are you going to tell him?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply but instead of an irritatingly vague remark, a grunt of pain emerged instead. His eyes instinctively dropped to his left forearm and hers followed. The Dark Mark was burning like a lighthouse in reverse- a homing beacon of death.

Grey eyes fused with worried, brown ones. For a moment, the severity of the situation could be measured by the depth of alarm in Draco's but before Granger could fully appreciate it for what it was, he broke eye contact and internally collected himself.

If he wanted to enact his plan he needed to do so fast. For all he knew, it would be his last act as a living being.

Fervently he whispered, "Granger I dare you to trust me." Her face wavered between wide-eyed trust and watery despair. Draco could relate; one could only know despair if one's trust had been broken.

But now wasn't about broken things. Now was about trying to fix them.

The intensifying burn of the Mark forced his hands out in desperation, one to cling Granger's rigid shoulder and the other to curl the base of her skull. He was dimly shocked by how soft her bird-nest hair was.

"Come on Granger," he repeated more harshly. "Trust me, dammit. We're running out of time." The pain from the Dark Lord's call pulsed mercilessly to the point that Draco thought he would pass out before he had a chance to disapparate.

Thankfully, brown eyes anchored him. She felt steady underneath the firm grip of his fingertips. Granger studied Draco a moment longer before her resolve clicked into place. Not breaking from his hold, she reached behind her back and cleverly unsheathed his wand, presumably from her back pant pocket. She offered it to him, explaining weakly "I planned on letting you go today."

Even with a witch and wizard in the room, the magic that encapsulated the two rivals was beyond anything Draco ever felt before. His grip tightened, loathed as he was to release her before he could identify the sensation but Draco knew that he needed to go. His throat felt on fire with the need to provide an explanation to Granger; the truth she asked for discarded in light of recent events.

The Mark raged at his procrastination. Draco hissed through his teeth to suppress the scream scorching the back of his throat. It was too late for explanations.

Eyes locked, he removed his hand from her neck, allowing himself the barest caress at the space behind her ear. Granger's scent drifted upward from his movement and he pulled it in like a drowning man.

Grabbing his wand with the hand removed from her shoulder, he turned on the spot catching only a glimpse of the surprise that widened Granger's face.

Draco landed gently on his feet in Granger's room and went immediately to his stash of things. Sweat was darkening the pale hair at his temples and making his hands slick as he quietly scurried for his copy of the journal.

Granger's footfalls raced up the stairs. Draco scanned the room a final time, his throat working around a roar of frustration that would shatter the last of his reserves. He gripped the journal in one hand like it was a lifeline that could pull him back to safety whenever he wished. His clothes were stuffed in the crook of his arm when Draco released a breath of resignation and disapparated home.

Hermione rounded the second floor landing, knowing before she tripped into the room that Malfoy was already gone. The indescribable scent that was uniquely him still lingered; as she breathed it in, a sharp, traitorous pain lanced across her lungs.

Instantly, her eyes found the journal still atop her desk, undisturbed. Moving to the corner of the room that had unofficially became _his_ space, Hermione balked to find his black tee forgotten amongst the sheets. Very carefully she picked it up and folded it before placing it under her mattress.

Confusion and betrayal tumbled through her veins, leading to nausea. She collapsed in her desk chair, seeking steadiness. _He could do magic all this time without any threat of the trace! How? I thought he was bluffing just like me._

She glanced at the journal. The thoughts from the past four days whizzed around her head like snitches, impossible to pin down. Even more so because she didn't fly.

Hermione grabbed a pen from the top drawer of the desk and opened the journal to a fresh page, intent on using it like a pensieve.

Perhaps when all the memories were leached out in black and white, she'd be able to decide whether she wanted to kill Malfoy… or save him.


	12. The Task, Part 2

**The Task, Part Two**

* * *

" _Souls tend to go back to who feels like home." N.R. Hart_

Malfoy Manor was a dark silhouette against the August sunset. Draco panted as if he run from Granger's house to his own but there was no time to collect himself; so with every brisk stride he made toward his front door, Draco wadded the chaos of the past four days into a flaming nebula that could implode at a later time of his choosing. _Preferably never._

His hand was only slightly trembling when it grabbed the cold, iron doorknob. At the last second, he used his wand to swing the door open, reminding himself that his wand served as an extension of his own arm even if he had been without magic for days.

He crossed the empty entrance hall, hastily depositing his clothes on a suede chaise. The twin journal sat snugly against his back, tucked into his trouser waistband, before he traveled up the stairs to the massive drawing room. The slightest flicker of wariness paled his overly flush face when he was greeted by a welcoming committee arranged in a half moon. The unexpected company conspicuously blocked the dining table and doorways that led off the room.

Folding his hands behind his back, unconsciously securing the journal further, Draco's eyes flicked cautiously over his parents and Voldemort. Beyond him, his Aunt Bellatrix stood to the right of the Dark Lord, vibrating from the strain to not lean in towards him. The other shock was the statuesque form of his godfather, Severus Snape, swathed in his usual black robes and flanking Aunt Bellatrix's other side.

The silence pressed upon Draco's ears as he tried to orient himself but the welcoming committee grew restless.

"We're so pleased at your return, Draco. Although it was questionable…" Voldemort glided forward, the inquiry hanging in the air like a swaying noose.

Draco demurred accordingly. "Apologies, my Lord. I believed an opportunity to glean more information was imminent and I wished to retrieve whatever information possible for the good of the cause."

In the background Lucius' stance straightened, suffused with pride. Draco waited for his father's newfound delight to warm his insides but the thought of what was still to come froze his blood instead.

He pulled his eyes away from his father, entirely ignoring any contact with his mother lest he slip. Looking back at the face of his darkest ambiguity, he inwardly cringed at the greed coloring the skin a pallid pink. Draco retreated to the sanctuary of his thoughts and intoned, "Granger was very solitary in her daily movements. Other than her parents, she only traded contact with Potter and Weasley- Ron- based on the owls that visited the house."

He pulled in a breath refusing to even blink and fracture the truth-tinged fabrication. "She spent most of her time just reading," pausing to snort disdainfully, "but the two times she left her residence, I was able to sneak in and pull information from a journal she kept." The half circle audience leaned forward in anticipation, Voldemort sifting closer in such eagerness that he left a mere half meter between them. His ashy exhalations of excitement filled the short distance and Draco would have gagged if he wasn't so deep in his mind.

"She mentioned Order names." Draco heard a gasp that he attributed to Bellatrix, knowing his mother wouldn't betray an ounce of emotion. "Most we already know but a few were linked to the Ministry. They were Theodore Knowles and Felix Fugazi. Also a woman, Bethany Moros."

The air hummed with possibility and Voldemort, without moving an inch from Draco, ordered over his shoulder, "Severus check on these names."

"Yes, my Lord," Snape replied as he briskly moved toward the stairs, taking a moment to drill Draco with a stygian stare of suspicion.

 _A problem for tomorrow, if I live to see it._ He briefly basked in the memory of thinking those same words a few hours ago but instead of being burdened by predatory stares, he had felt bolstered by a piteous, brown one. His inner view widened to include a bottom lip, trapped between straight white teeth. The feel of her brown curls still tickled his fingertips; before long, he felt his focus tumble into the frenetic sea of memories accumulated over the past four days and he struggled to resent this over-emotional reaction.

Draco forced his steely gaze outward, mentally gasping for air and the clarity required to push forward through the interrogation.

He noted the two remaining men in front of him and eschewed the pawn-like role he served in both their lives. Then there were the women- of the same blood but split beliefs; one's only expectation was his happiness while the other would settle for nothing less than blind following.

And then again, _her_ face crystallized in his mind's eye, one he would have expected by now to have no bearing on his self-esteem. Yet, he felt trapped by Granger's last words to him, echoing his present turmoil.

" _Do whatever he expects of you. There's no escaping that…"_

The words had been released into the air like little Pandora boxes, there for him to do with as he liked. He wondered if she expected anything from him.

He wondered if he cared.

In terms of the rest of the world, he supposed they expected either everything or nothing from Draco Malfoy.

Particularly the two red slits and twisted mouth that re-entered his line of sight… it wanted most certainly everything. Draco wasn't sure if he had anything left to give.

But, he pressed on. "I found something else in her book. She was researching what would cause wands to connect; the entry was dated around the summer after Triwizard Tournament." He felt his eyes glaze over with practiced blankness, knowing that this information was important to the Dark Lord but refusing to openly acknowledge that he knew such. He didn't know how it was possible but Voldemort's eyes narrowed further as he contemplated Draco.

"Bellatrix?" he questioned, again not bothering to turn and face his follower. Bellatrix was nothing but enthusiastic to be called upon. As Bellatrix tried to catch Voldemort's focus she moved into Draco's line of vision, her wild black hair in a tangle of curls which made him a bit sick with guilt.

"You heard Draco. You know what to do."

She preened, "Yes, my Lord. Right away, my Lord." Then his aunt strode forward and much like Snape, paused to acknowledge Draco. "You've done well, nephew."

He choked on his own bile in response. Soon, only the Malfoys and Voldemort stood in the drawing room. With no windows to the outside, Draco couldn't gauge if night had fallen. His body was stiff from the stress of the interrogation which felt to have carried on for hours. Evidently, the Dark Lord wasn't done. He started to circle Draco almost idly, Voldemort's wand draped casually in his hand as he rotated around and subtly prodded Draco's mind.

Instantly the young Malfoy mentally seized up, blurring the hours with Granger to resemble the static of sleep- not a stretch for Draco as those days together seemed more like vivid dreams.

"Draco," Voldemort whispered, the syllables slithering over Malfoy's shoulder, "You have yet to provide any concrete information about Miss Granger herself."

His heartbeat drowned out his fear. With his parents' eyes intent upon him, Draco spilled the poison he'd been brewing for this moment in hopes of infecting someone else.

"It's like I said, my Lord. She's a bookish brat. A mudblood know-it-all. She hardly did anything but take trips to the library and read." He exhaled and shrugged his shoulder, even though the movement felt rigid, rusty. "She seemed actually distant from Potter as I only observed the trading of one letter and most of what she wrote back to him was lies."

Though he could not see it, Draco could feel Voldemort allowing a rare grin to grace his face. "Perhaps the mudblood already accepts the inevitability of her fate," Voldemort ventured.

Draco nearly swayed on the spot. His mother's eyes had widened minutely at the remark, the unspoken promise it contrived caught in the confines of the group.

It was always those gaping holes of silence that, if not careful, one fell into with no hope of climbing out.

The insanity of the last couple weeks on the task suddenly pressed upon Draco like a crushing weight and although he knew it foolish he asked, "With all due respect, if there is nothing else my Lord?"

 _I would like to retire to my room. Take a fucking shower. Perhaps face a roomful of boggarts to unwind._

He reconsidered that notion as he thought of all those Luciuses standing off, some berating Draco for his shortcomings while others praise him for his malicious feats. It made Voldemort look a touch more bearable.

But then he shifted in front of Draco and spoke. "There is something else Draco, my loyal recruit." His whole ghostly face radiated evil intent, all the more horrifying by the grin that still stretched across his lips. Draco suddenly felt that yawning grave created by the earlier silence would be immeasurably better than the words Voldemort was about to hiss.

"All of my loyal followers must complete an ultimate show of loyalty. You, Draco, will prove a most valuable weapon indeed." Voldemort paused, a real professional at dramatics. "You are tasked with a vital death, one that will irrevocably shift the course of the coming war."

Draco gulped to clear his throat and thus force the question from his shivering frame.

"Whose death, my Lord?"

The coffin lid slid neatly into place. "Albus Dumbledore."

oOo

The name that would be his downfall beat in his head as mercilessly as the hot water rained upon his body. Draco had been standing in the shower for a good half hour, waiting for the water to cleanse him. After the interrogation, he felt blacker than fear.

Draco closed his eyes as the steam billowed around him; in the blurred enclosure, he half-expected to reach out and close his hand around that sinful soap of Granger's.

The extended exposure to the hot water started to chafe at his skin so Draco turned the knob and stepped into the large, marble-filled bathroom. He tied a towel around his waist, the cool air kissing his still wet skin. He deftly moved through the drawers of the sink's cabinet; everything was exactly where it was meant to be.

 _Then why isn't the thought comforting?_

Slamming the drawers savagely, Draco stalked into his room that was dark save for the candlelight on his desk. He had tucked the journal between a few old school books once the Dark Lord dismissed him. Now that he was alive to see another day and completely clean from the rigors of the task, Draco's hands itched to examine his prize.

He slipped seamlessly from plush towel to even plusher robe and approached the desk with his accelerating heartbeat roaring in his ears, so much so that the gentle rap on his bedroom door initially went unnoticed. Draco spun around, flushed with guilt, when he heard the door crack open.

"Draco? May I come in?" His mother's murmured request traveled through the opening. He cast another look toward the hidden journal and sighed. "Yes, Mother."

Narcissa was a shadow, flitting from the semi-darkness of the hallway to the impenetrable black of Draco's room. She wordlessly lit her wand although Draco stood backlit by the desk candle light's soft glow. He kept his eyes cast downward while his hands braced his backside on the desk, covertly protecting the journal.

As the adrenaline from the interrogation receded, a new kind of anxiety fluttered in his stomach; if anyone could get the truth out of Draco, it was his mother.

 _Fierce, cunning Slytherin she is, that would have Granger weeping in envy._

"I'm pleased that you are back from the task safe," she began, creeping forward so the lumos would illuminate Draco. "Although that safety seems short-lived."

Draco snorted. "Bit of an understatement." His gray eyes swung upwards to meet their likeness; for a brief moment he felt the cynicism in his thaw as his mother openly stared with abject fear.

"I will find a way, Mother." He soothed, uncharacteristically running his fingers along her hairline.

Narcissa shuddered from the contact before pulling her frame stiff again. The smallest of smiles turned her lips as she replied, "Of course you shall, and with help."

Draco quirked his eyebrow. She had stepped back so that the darkness could crowd between them.

 _I'm not going to like this._

"I will be asking your godfather to provide assistance, should you need it, once you are at Hogwarts." Draco shifted forward, propelled by irritation that even in his descent to hell he required help.

"Mother," he started, not attempting to hide the aggravation in his tone.

Her wand had blacked out as she reached the door to the hallway. "There will be no discussion, Draco. You are my son first, a Death Eater recruit second. I will help where I can."

Narcissa then ghosted out the door much like she entered. _Damn meddling women._

Draco's hand connected hard with the books on his desk, reminding him of his initial intent before his mother barged in to vex him. His overeager hands unearthed the journal and opened it; the solitary light in his room flickered over the text and despite the meticulous nature of Granger's penmanship, he could not discern it in the dark.

Draco pulled his wand from the robe pocket, still relishing the feel of being reunited with it. He cast a Lumos as he flipped through the pages, appallingly interested to see if Granger had written since he left the house.

Draco wasn't sure if he was uplifted or uneasy when he reached a hastily scrawled entry dated today. He slowly inhaled; then, after imposing a cool and clinical mindset, he started to read.

 **Aug 14**

~I don't think I will be able to find the right words to articulate the chaotic tailspin I now find myself in. All at the hands of Draco Malfoy.

He was sent to spy on me for reasons unknown at present, although I could hazard a guess. After what happened in the Department of Mysteries, I doubt Voldemort is leaving anything to chance.

At least, that is to say consciously. Would he have expected mudblood Hermione Granger to have outwit and caught Malfoy?

Would he have expected the rest that occurred after said capture? I didn't. Even now, I'm not sure what to expect. That lying snake wasn't actually lying- he could perform magic and obviously without any fear of consequence of the trace! Now I can't help but wonder if it really was just a game for him since he had nothing to fear…

And I also wonder why I even care! It's just Malfoy. Cranky, condescending Malfoy. Malicious Malfoy the git. But then, didn't I also see hesitantly curious Malfoy? And dare I say it- dark and mysterious Draco?

Oh Godric! I'm not sure what to think! Rambling on like this isn't helping either. For now, I shall stick to the facts. Malfoy is a Death Eater in the making. There is no knowing if what went on during our time together has any basis in reality, which means whatever conflicting feelings that arose from it cannot be considered.

Perhaps I will be lucky enough when we end up back at Hogwarts that I can corner him and claim my grand prize. That is, if we both end up back at Hogwarts.~

Draco traced the last word as if the movement would reveal more of Granger's writing. The uneasiness from earlier had solidified like a rock with every word he read. It sat heavy in the pit of his stomach; Draco wished he could just get sick and remove the unfamiliar sensation from his body but a creeping thought prevailed over such impulse.

 _This feeling is here to stay._

Draco stripped from his robe and padded over to his bed. Lifting the enormous mattress, he slid the journal onto the bed frame before dropping the mattress back into place and climbing between cool sheets.

Draco tossed, then turned. Despite the intensity of the day, his body resisted relaxing into the soft mattress, as if he would sink in and not be able to climb back out.

He vaulted from the bed, grumbling tiredly, before bundling the bed things in a ball and throwing them to the floor. Draco added his pillow to the collection and burrowed into the nest of expensive fabric.

 _Can't even sleep in a bed now. Bloody Lion..._


	13. Fragile Threads of a Liar's Web

**Fragile Threads of a Liar's Web**

* * *

" _The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies." -Anon._

Draco spent the better part of his last weeks home alternating between acting the perfect Malfoy heir for the loafing Death Eaters that made the Manor their headquarters and swilling Firewhisky until the stress of the second task eased in his chest.

Thankfully, time blurred deliciously as the amber liquid burned a path down his throat, like a fire cleansing the detritus from his mind.

 _Well, not everything got blurred._

Presently, Draco reclined at his desk in his room knowing that he would soon be summoned for a meeting. Only days separated his return to Hogwarts and the anxiety he'd been able to ignore since his departure from Granger's now flared like red sparks from his wand, the heat of it traveling all the available paths of his body in a way with which Firewhisky couldn't compete.

Draco pulled agitatedly at the collar of his black, button-up shirt. His robes hung pristinely on the side of his wardrobe, ready to be donned for the gathering.

 _Voldemort developed a tick if we show up in anything other than 'uniform'._

Draco drummed the open journal idly as the now memorized words from the last entry turned hazy under his unfocused vision. Most days he resisted checking the journal for a new entry knowing that to do so was only opening him up like a wound, exposing him to the elements.

But he was curious, dammit.

Especially since Granger hadn't stumbled over an epiphany to etch on the page other than on that momentous farewell day.

A quick rap on his door alerted him to the imminent start of the meeting. Draining the last of his watered-down Firewhisky, Draco snapped the cover of the journal shut, briefly admiring the work he did on it; he knew it was crucial once back at school to divert attention away from the book so he severed the leather cover and replaced it with an old school book cover. Any Slytherin knew that Draco could be found thumbing Arithmancy on a regular basis and for the Slytherins who didn't know, they would soon become educated with a disdainfully raised brow and sneer.

Nevertheless, he tucked the journal between two other books. Draco then threw his robes over his clothing and left the room.

Draco strolled into the drawing room, consciously reminding himself that this was his bloody home and he shouldn't be the one uncomfortable in the surroundings. The space was packed with many- if not all- of the Dark Lord's followers, resembling parties that his mother used to throw when he was young. The disturbing commonality was that many of these same people attended those parties.

A seat was empty between his mother and father so he dropped into it. Lucius shot him a look of warning, likely for his gracelessness.

Voldemort was yet missing from the gathering. The air around the table buzzed with a hushed kind of energy; Draco observed the various Death Eaters socialize with one another but their eyes darted around the room constantly while their wand hands tightened around that crucial piece of wood. Draco's left hand rested casually with his hawthorn loosely held between his fingers, while his right hand turned his immaculately smooth robes into a wrinkled mess below the table.

Immediately, the air changed; the Dark Lord framed himself in the opening off the main staircase, his body unusually rigid.

Draco and the other followers stiffened unconsciously as well. Draco sometimes wondered whether the Mark connected the Death eaters to Voldemort in more ways than one. Slipping into rehearsal mode, Draco bowed his head in recognition of their Lord's appearance, although his gray eyes remained slanted and trained on the grim specter moving stiffly into the room.

"Loyal followers," Voldemort started, "It is good of you to be here. We have much to discuss." His tongue got stuck on the 's', elongating the word to menacing proportions.

"We've gained valuable information from the scouts that trailed our various targets. Our attention, however, turns to a new endeavor." The Dark Lord's fierce scrutiny pinned Draco to his seat. His skin crawled under the layers of clothing, chafing at the feel of no escape. Narcissa, to his right, shifted almost imperceptibly in an attempt to block Draco.

 _As if there was anyway to be shielded from this. If so, it should have happened a long time ago._

Instead, the young Malfoy bobbed his head in acknowledgment of the Dark Lord, waiting on what unpredictable path he would choose to tread with regards to this new "endeavor".

Voldemort flicked his empty hand which wrenched Draco to a standing position. His eyes closed briefly in surprise before the stormy gray depths honed back in on the Dark Lord who started to casually make his way around the table.

"Young Draco is honored with an important death, one I believe in which you will all find joy."

Voldemort passed by Bellatrix, who was seated across from the Malfoys and nearly buzzing with unholy excitement. He swept behind the Lestrange brothers, looking almost bored, and Rowle who gripped his wand tighter.

Draco couldn't stand the dramatized moment any longer. He cleared his throat to draw attention and after receiving a malicious twist of lips as tacit permission from Voldemort, Draco spoke.

"I will be the one to kill Albus Dumbledore."

The air was near sucked out of the room by the violent intake of breath. Draco felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen and overwhelmed by all the eyes that shot to his with the pronouncement.

The Dark Lord was the only one especially elated by the going-ons; he had continued to drift around the table, coming behind Snape who betrayed no emotion at Draco's statement. In fact, if Draco didn't know his godfather so well, he would dismiss his demeanor as bored save for the knuckles turning white as his hands curled into fists.

Draco turned his head forward as Voldemort reached his seat. Gripping the table discreetly to keep from yielding, Draco intentionally forced his breath from his nose in slow, even exhales.

Then, Voldemort spoke. "Draco is in charge of this entire operation and thus, shall decide who will assist him and in what capacity."

The lights in the drawing room mysteriously dimmed, allowing the shadows to come out to play. They danced on the faces of the Death Eaters like phantoms, transforming their normal human features into twisted disfigurements.

"Although we have a window of opportunity for Draco to complete this task, it remains of the utmost priority. I will expect regular reports."

Draco waited for Voldemort to drift past him but the bastard was insistent in his position behind Draco. Voldemort murmured quietly, "That will be all."

Everyone moved as hastily as they could without being considered disrespectful. Everyone except the Malfoys who were caged in their seats with Voldemort's eerie stance.

"Lucius," Voldemort hissed, wordlessly careening the massive dining table into the far wall, "you may go as well."

The trio all jumped as the table made sickening contact when it crashed into the wall. Lucius, eyeing Draco and Narcissa with naked wariness, hesitated to leave them alone but he had no wand to defend against Voldemort's rather visible wrath.

What he had, Draco thought a bit bitterly, was good sense since even with wand in hand, Voldemort could obliterate Lucius without breaking a sweat.

 _Shit. Speaking of wands…_

Draco watched his father reluctantly shuffle away, the door slamming behind him. As Draco's eyes swung back to Voldemort, he inwardly groaned to see his own wand on the ground near the table, completely out of reach. _What kind of wizard am I not to have instinctually secured my wand in hand at the threat of harm?_ Voldemort had now moved in front of the frozen pair.

"I have some terrible news," Voldemort began, his red slitted eyes looking at Draco menacingly. "Those Ministry Order names were false. Peculiar that, don't you think Draco?"

His eyes widened and flashed silver at the unexpected discovery.

 _Bloody fucking hell, Granger._

Draco gripped his hands in front of him and scrambled for a suitable reply that would placate the Dark Lord. "I think, my Lord, that perhaps Granger was mistaken. After all, she can't be high enough in the Order to necessarily be privy to such information." Draco said this thoughtfully, layering his tone with careful contemplation.

The Dark Lord stared.

"I think, Draco, that Miss Granger knew exactly what she was writing down. Perhaps a little pain will loosen the tongue?"

Voldemort raised his wand which Draco flinched at reflexively; yet it was his mother's unexpected scream that nearly buckled him.

Blood draining from his face, Draco fumbled over to her contorting body, at a loss of what he could do to help her. Voldemort shifted to keep his wand trained on Narcissa although his attention was entirely Draco's.

"Any thoughts, young Draco?"

"I don't know!" Draco yelled, his voice frantic and resounding in the high-walled room. The ensuing echo tumbled over and over like a wave, only adding to the two Malfoys' suffering. A fresh wave of pain soon unfurled over Narcissa, tears of agony now leaking from her clenched eyes.

Draco felt buried under the pressure of the situation, leaving him with no light that could guide his way out.

He strove for a lifeline to pull himself from this hellish haze, something anchored in reality, but he could only stare at his mother's writhing body where her right arm and leg rippled endlessly like turned toward the Dark Lord with a weak and childish plea.

"It was my fault, my Lord. I must have read the names wrong. I'd gone too long without sending a report so I probably forgot. Please, punish me for this mishap."

Voldemort kept his eyes narrowed on Draco, clearly assessing the veracity of his words, before slicing his wand through the air to sever the curse that held Narcissa. She collapsed in a now-unconscious heap on the floor.

Not daring to break eye contact first, Draco steeled his eyes and bowed his head apologetically toward Voldemort as if the man did not just torture his mother into a fucking stupor.

"I apologize for the misinformation, my Lord," Draco murmured. Belatedly, he pressed a hand to his heart as a further sign of contrition, although the action served more effectively to suppress the erratic beat of his overworked heart.

Voldemort spared no further glance at either Malfoy as he released the lock charm on the doors and strode towards them.

"Next time I would be very careful not to make such a mistake."

Lucius barrelled in the moment Voldemort disappeared down the stairs. He snapped at Draco to levitate Narcissa to the family wing and after she was gently placed on the bed, Lucius took Draco's wand and started muttering healing spells over her inert form. Draco clenched her hand like it was absolution.

After a tense half hour of work, Narcissa's breathing deepened to that of someone placid in sleep; Lucius collapsed onto the bed beside her, wiping the sweat from his pallid brow. His tired eyes never leaving his wife, he murmured to Draco, "She should be fine come morning. You should go back to your wing."

Draco hesitated, exhaustion warring with an illogical need to keep eyes on his mother. After a few moments his father sliced him with a look of impatience, the blue of Lucius' eyes hardened to shards of ice. Draco released his mother's hand after a gentle squeeze and retired to his room.

Once locked in, the suppressed panic from before overrode his self-preservation and had Draco heaving in air like a man almost drowned. He placed his hands on the bed to keep them from shaking but the shudders only diverted their path down his spine, weakening his legs until they gave out.

The sight of his mother under the twisted machinations of Voldemort kept replaying in his head, a torture all its own. Draco turned his face into the thick comforter trying to quell the tears that threatened to come.

 _Death Eaters don't cry. Malfoys don't fucking cry._

They slid from his eyes anyway, unrelenting.

oOo

Hermione felt, rather than heard, the first stirrings of wakefulness from Ginny Weasley; this was understandable since her room could be considered cramped for one person and nearly claustrophobic when occupied by two.

Hermione kept her eyes closed despite her friend's movements. She was too occupied with chasing the tail end of a dream, its contents unknown save for a deep seated sense of foreboding followed by flashing gray eyes.

The dream dissipated into the early morning air and left Hermione wondering about the boy those gray eyes belong to.

 _Oh Godric, Malfoy. Can't you stay where you belong?_

Only after Malfoy had disappeared from her house and left her with a murky mind did Hermione remember that it was the day Harry was to be moved from the Dursleys. With no owl of her own, she had to wait desperately for one of the boys to let her know everything went well.

Surprisingly, she got the news one day later. Hermione had scribbled a reply about a change of plans and that she would love to come to the Burrow if the invitation still stood.

Another day passed and she was being picked up by a sleek, Ministry car. _Yet another surprise._

So here she was, a day before the start of school at the one place she had hoped to avoid all holiday.

And it certainly wasn't just because Malfoy had openly stated what seemed to be obvious to everyone but the relative party- Ron Weasley. _I have a crush on Ron Weasley. Can things become any more complicated?_

Hermione nearly snorted in her faux sleep; they could indeed. Add four days spent alone with Draco Malfoy who didn't entirely resemble her characterization of Draco Malfoy.

"Ugh," Hermione groaned as she stretched her limbs past the makeshift bed.

"Oh good, you're up," Ginny said, seemingly now fully alert as she bounced from her bed. "I don't want to be downstairs alone with Fleur." Hermione could feel her friend's toes nudging at her unresponsive frame.

Hermione flipped the covers off the top half of her body and the chaos that was her bed hair fluttered onto her face. She imagined that walking through a spiderweb was as pleasant as her morning-time curls.

"Come on, you," Ginny whined, sounding a bit too much like Ron. "It's shopping day, remember? Mum's going to start banging our doors down."

As if on cue, Mrs. Weasley's chipper voice could be heard reverberating up the stairwell. Hermione sighed, then slipped into jeans and the last of her clean jumpers- emerald green which contrasted well with the varying amber tones of her hair and eyes, if she indulged in a moment of vanity.

 _Not that I'm expecting anyone to notice._

She followed Ginny down the stairs, twisting her unruly mane back as she walked and securing it with a pocketful of pins. Even so, a few curls dangled by her face. Breakfast was consumed rather quickly due to time constraints; before long, the school-age residents along with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were bustled away in a Ministry vehicle.

"High security clearance for you, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley commented from the front seat as Ron stretched luxuriously in the back, invading everyone's space coincidentally. Hermione noticed Harry fidget uncomfortably at the comment but with no privacy, she couldn't ask him about it. Their journey came to an end as they reached London and entered the Leaky Cauldron. Tom and Hagrid were the only souls in the place, leaving the well-loved tables and empty bar stools to look neglected. As the clan approached, Tom was toweling perfectly shiny glasses in a preoccupied fashion while Hagrid loudly greeted the group.

"Hullo Weasley family, Hermione, Harry," he boomed, the sound incongruous in such a quiet space. "I'm to be your security for today." Hagrid's eyes crinkled as he smiled down at the group before turning to head to the back of the pub and the brick entrance of the Alley.

The Weasley clan- plus Harry and Hermione- huddled together as they traversed down the eerily subdued Diagon Alley. Hermione frowned when she saw Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor deserted.

"I think it's best we shorten our time here and split up," Mr. Weasley said a bit nervously. The adults all agreed; the Weasleys took Ginny and the book lists to Flourish and Blotts while Hagrid escorted the trio to Madam Malkin's.

Hermione entered behind Harry and Ron, still disturbingly occupied by the somber atmosphere that had overtaken Wizarding London's main street, that she didn't initially note how tense the store was. In all honesty, it wasn't until she heard "mudblood" in that insolent voice that her attention turned outward.

Hermione's brown eyes met achingly familiar gray ones and she nearly staggered, despite standing in one place. Unlike her, Dra… _Malfoy_ seemed completely impassive. His gaze merely flickered over her form that was now being shielded by her wand-wielding friends.

"Please, put them away," Hermione quietly begged but the words fell on deaf ears. She placed her hands on their shoulders in hopes that physical touch would jarr them from their foolish behavior but then Malfoy's mother appeared from behind a curtained changing area and advanced on Harry, her gait slightly favoring her left side.

She laughed, the sound fragile yet no less patronizing, as it filtered through the room. Hermione intently watched Narcissa, confused by the slight twitch that seemed to ripple down the right side of her body. As the laughter faded, Narcissa discreetly pulled in a steadying breath before addressing Ron and Harry.

"Put your wands away. There's nothing you can do," she condescended, the scorn in her eyes identical to Draco's usual expression.

Harry stepped forward recklessly, his nose only centimeters away from Narcissa's. "Oh really? And is there something you can do then? Some Death Eater friends waiting in the back?"

Madam Malkin blanched at Harry's comment. Hermione gripped the back of his t-shirt knowing that to do so was as helpful as locking one's door against a tornado. Losing Sirius had made Harry even more reckless; Hermione fervently prayed there would be no collateral damage from it.

Narcissa smiled unpleasantly at Harry's taunt. "I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."

Hermione's brown eyes went wide, her hand unconsciously falling from Harry's shoulder in shock. A cold, creeping sweep of uneasiness raised the fine hairs on her skin as Hermione turned her attention back to Draco, who was even paler than normal as he stared at his mother in… _No… that couldn't possibly be fear. Was he worried for his mother? Why?_

Hermione bit her bottom lip, anxious that even a noisy exhalation would crack the tension of the room. While her attention had wavered to Malfoy's uncharacteristic reaction, she missed the taunt that Harry hurled at Narcissa, although the icy looks that the Malfoys were throwing in response could petrify just as effectively as a Basilisk stare. Curiously, the twitch returned to Narcissa's movements, barely perceptible under her elegant, controlled movements, if Hermione wasn't fascinated by the cause of it.

Almost comically, Madam Malkin chose to plow forward with her work as if the situation would just right itself naturally.

"Let's take up this left sleeve a bit, shall we?" she suggested to Malfoy as she made to pull it up for pinning.

With an odd sense of urgency, Hermione almost called out in warning but Malfoy reacted to the shopkeeper's touch like it burned.

"Ouch!" yelled Malfoy, wrenching his arm from her grasp. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother, I don't think I want these anymore-"

He gracefully pulled the deep emerald green robes from his head, not disturbing a single blond hair in the process, the prat. He flung them at Madam Malkin, his tall body straight with superiority.

Narcissa, her narrowed gray gaze having never left Harry's face, nodded in acknowledgment to Draco's words and then left the shop clinging gingerly to her son's proffered arm.

Madam Malkin hurried through Harry, Ron, and Hermione's purchases and then shooed them from the shop before further calamity could strike.

Harry silently motioned to the other two and they slipped past Hagrid, who was making rather embarrassing cooing noises at the owls inside Eeylops. Further down the street, the trio found themselves at the wrecked storefront that was Ollivander's.

"Oh no, Ollivander's too?" Hermione lamented. She carefully maneuvered around the debris on the ground, shards of glass and splintered wood, before entering the shop with Harry and Ron right behind her.

The shop was eerie in its silence, the lights in the ceiling rafters broken by whoever trespassed on the shop. "I wonder what made Ollivander run," Hermione said to no one in particular as she accidentally trod on an empty wand box.

 _The evidence does seem to suggest otherwise._

"Hey, look," Harry whispered. He pointed out the windows at a distinct pale head that had turned down towards Knockturn Alley with a dark-haired one.

"Could only imagine where they're going," Ron remarked sarcastically.

"Come on, then," Harry gestured as he exited the door, curiosity already giving him tunnel vision. Ron followed good-naturedly, leaving Hermione alone in the shop biting her lip. Trash sifted under her shifting feet as she vacillated over following them. Threads of hesitation and uneasiness pulled at her insides, all because of the idiotic and still unidentifiable feelings that flared from seeing Malfoy. None of it made sense.

 _I need to be logical. Support my best friends- I owe Malfoy nothing._

The boys were staring at her impatiently so she tightened her hand around her wand and re-entered the alley.

"I don't think is a good idea. Your mom's going to realize we disappeared, Ron," she tried weakly as they took off down the side, connecting lane. The stone walls in the narrow alleyway stank, an unidentifiable slime like a clear coat of paint covering them. The trio, nearly attached at the hip, shifted into the main stretch and although it seemed impossible, the alley was drenched in early darkness save for a few pathetic lanterns aglow outside opened shops.

Thankfully, the unmistakable Malfoy blond was visible as it worked its way down the street, eventually entering an establishment. "I know where they're going," Harry muttered. "Follow me."

Hermione followed hesitantly as her eyes darted around the sparsely occupied Alley; she suddenly regretted the bright emerald green of her jumper that lit her up like a beacon in the dank atmosphere.

Harry led them down a side alley. There was no sign of life yet it only made the air feel more sinister. The trio climbed a ladder attached to the side of a building- Hermione's stomach pitching with every wrung she climbed- and found themselves on a roof that had a decent view of the shop in question- Borgin and Burkes.

"How do you know Knockturn Alley so well, Harry?" Hermione questioned severely. She recalled the summer before 2nd year when he landed accidentally in Borgin and Burkes but quite a bit of time has passed since then.

Harry said, "The roof is distinctive, look at the shingles." Hermione noted the shingles' blood-red hue and peered around at the neighboring buildings which boasted various coal-colored roofs. "The roof caught my eye last time I had been in the shop. I was trying to figure out where I was."

Peeking over the dilapidated roof, the three were surprised to see that not only the Malfoys were gathered in the shop. At least three other wizards were mulling about; a gigantic, brooding male with a rough look about him stood toward the windows, his movements almost animal as he paced from side to side. Two dark-haired lanky forms huddled closer to the Malfoys, their ease with one another evident as the witch propped an arm up on the wizard with visible impatience. Everyone's attention, however, was focused on Malfoy and an old, stooped gentleman who were discussing something in front of a large cabinet.

"Can anyone make out what they're saying?" Harry whispered. Ron and Hermione replied no, both knowing that even an extendable ear would be useless over this distance. Narcissa hovered somewhat uselessly by Draco until he sliced his hand out in warning causing the other men to laugh at his superficial bravado.

Suddenly, the trio's view was blocked by the magical lowering of blinds over the windows. After a grunt of dissatisfaction from Harry, the friends retraced their steps back to Diagon Alley, speculation flowing from Harry like the river Thames.

"You know what that was, right? An initiation. They were making him a Death Eater."

"Mate, shh!" Ron answered, shoving his friend in the back to hurry him along the path. Hermione took up the rear, afraid that the truth was spelled out on her face.

"You can't deny it Ron! You know what that family is. He was practically brought up to be one."

 _How sad and yet likely true- Malfoy was born for this path, much the way Harry was born to be the boy who lived. Different sides of the same coin._

Hermione kept her maudlin thoughts to herself however, as the trio turned back onto the main stretch, Ron convincingly spinning a lie when Mrs. Weasley bounded upon them with questions.

The ride back to the Burrow was considerably more somber, the occupants of the car reflecting on the end of the summer holiday. Hermione's stomach rolled in turmoil after the day's events; it felt like she spent it on the back of a broom! Seeing Draco again, though, brought a peculiar ache in her center, all at once relieving and unwieldy. When she was ensconced in the lonely light of her childhood bedroom prior to coming to the Burrow, Hermione thought she had reached a logical conclusion about Malfoy- that anything that had transpired during their time together was mystifying at best, especially observing Draco… _Malfoy_ in true form today.

 _Then again, what is true? Even decked out in wealth and insolence, something else seemed to have rippled beneath his surface._

The car had reached the Burrow as Hermione contemplated Draco's intricacies. As the clan exited the vehicle and retreated to their respective rooms, Hermione lingered outside and risked an 'Accio' of her journal from Ginny's room.

She disappeared into the orchard, the low, gnarled trees already heavy with fruit. Hermione settled at the base of one, reveling in the heady tang of ripe apples that blanketed the early evening air.

She wasn't sure why but she found the smell soothing as she opened the journal. _Maybe if I write everything down, I'll be able to sort out what's real about Malfoy. Godric, when did it become necessary to figure out Malfoy?_

Unbeknownst to her, miles and miles away, the echo of her confusion darkened the pages of a different journal, bringing a sense of peace to a certain unnerved, blond male.

 _The little lioness had looked good covered in green._


	14. Close Quarters

**Close Quarters**

* * *

" _Strange how we decorate pain." -Margaret Atwood_

The platform of nine and three-quarters was overcrowded with luggage, familiars, and the teeming, paranoid mass of parents about to send their children off to school.

Draco felt the paranoia distinctly; his skin prickled from the excess electricity, causing his body to twitch involuntarily. His customary black shirt and black trousers abraded against him like it was made from the cheap muggle sheets he slept under at Granger's, instead of expensive Egyptian cotton.

The train's gleaming exterior nearly blinded him in the midday sun. His mother stood in front of him, hands primly clasped and her eyes never leaving his face. His father stood to his left, facing the wall. The cane containing his wand pressed uncomfortably into Draco's shoulder forbidding him from escaping to the train's confines until the lecture was complete.

"You know what to do if you need anything. He will expect you to write home with progress," Lucius ground the word to emphasize its importance, "on a regular basis. This takes precedence even over your classes, Draco. You will not let this family down, do you understand?" Lucius hissed the expectations, the hostility scalding his neck.

The temptation to roll his eyes was strong. _Like how you didn't let us down, right Father?_

Draco continued to stare at his mother, nearly feasting on the health and vitality her body emanated; a razor thin sliver of hope that he would be able to keep her safe came to life inside him.

Anything to ward off the constant replay of her torture in his head.

Draco lifted his arms to quickly embrace his mother but a sharp, dancing pain on his shoulder stayed him while forcing him to bite his tongue. Hard.

Draco stared back into his Father's granite features; the cane still vibrated with the remnants of the Stinging Hex Lucius wordlessly cast but the force of the cane on Draco's shoulder didn't waver.

"I said, do you understand?"

Draco dropped his head dutifully and replied, "Yes Father."

The train's whistle split the air in warning, leaving Lucius no choice but to remove his cane from Draco. After a quick embrace to his mother- tangling incoherent soothing noises in her hair- Draco boarded the train and headed straight for the Slytherin compartment.

At some point he'd have to sneak away and take care of the tender exposed patch of skin on his shoulder- a parting souvenir from his father.

He kept his eyes trained on the aisle as he maneuvered around the last stragglers and when he couldn't help but pause as his peripherals caught that ludicrous mass of coffee-colored curls, Draco knew this year at Hogwarts would surely be the death of him.

The train just started to pull out of the station and Hermione couldn't help but sigh in relief. The weeks of unpredictability leading up to the start of school left Hermione restless, body and mind. She twirled a handful of hair, despite the frizzy mess that already framed her face, as her thoughts teemed from all the unanswered questions.

Across from her, Harry was equally fidgety. His eyes darted to the compartment door for the tenth time in as many minutes before he caved under the weight of his curiosity.

"What could Malfoy possibly be doing in that store that wasn't Voldemort related?"

Ron winced at the name. "Harry, shh, will you? Bloody hell, mate, you just jump right in."

Hermione glared at one of her two best friends. "Harry, you're starting to sound ridiculous. We have nothing to go on but what we saw, which wasn't much, mind you."

Harry stared at her, unyielding. "It was enough."

The trio lapsed into an uncomfortable silence since everyone refused to budge from their prospective beliefs. Hermione swallowed distressfully at the thought that Harry technically wasn't wrong and yet, she couldn't bring herself to betray Malfoy's secret.

It fluttered around her chest like a hummingbird, the incessant beating in sync with her heart and tickling the bottom of her throat in its attempt to escape.

Hermione's swift inhale pushed it back down; she knew it was safer if it stayed inside of her. At least right now.

The English countryside grew untamed out their window, civilization giving way to farmland and green wilderness. Hermione sat next to the window, savoring the September's sunlight's relative warmth as it poured through the glass. With only the humming of the train on the tracks filling the cabin, Hermione dozed off in the afternoon light.

Tendrils of repressed fantasies curled into her consciousness, the swift movement of a car in the English countryside… the heat rolling off Malfoy's body as music drummed in their ears… innocent brush of fingers in the popcorn container that was so sweet in its triviality that for a moment Hermione feels transported into a romantic comedy.

"'Mione!"

If the voice in her ear didn't jar her back to the present, the hand on her shoulder certainly did. Ron was leaning in close, trying to bring her back to consciousness. "Prefect meeting, Hermione. We have to go."

Ron's arm hadn't moved; he pressed into her almost forcefully. Hermione paused a minute to gather her thoughts.

 _I have my crush touching me and all I feel is vague annoyance to being wakened? Merlin, the world must be upside down._

Harry stared out the window, affording neither of his friends a farewell glance. "Just so you know," he says to no one in particular, "Slughorn has invited me to his carriage. I will see you later." Ron and Hermione shared a glance, mumbled "okay", and left the carriage- missing Harry slip the invisibility cloak into the back of his jeans.

The prefect carriage at the front of the train was already crowded. Ron snuck into a space near the door as Hermione unknowingly pushed forward, nearer to the Head Boy and Girl. The boy was a Hufflepuff, although his name was eluding Hermione; the girl hailed from Ravenclaw based on the colors of her robes.

"All right, you lot. Let's get started." The boy announced to the cabin. "My name is David and I'm Head Boy this year. This is Nora," he gestured to the blonde girl standing next to him.

The compartment door squeaked open, revealing a latecomer.

"And are we fortunate enough to be led by purebloods this year?" Malfoy's dripping disdain preceded him into the cabin.

All eyes swung to the pompous git, Hermione's included. She watched Malfoy's face almost relax into a sneer as he shouldered past Ron and a 5th year Ravenclaw.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Ron yelled at his back, his face already blooming to match his hair in color, but Malfoy ignored him as he pressed his way toward the front.

"Enough!" David snapped. "If you don't like who is leading you, Malfoy, you can _quietly_ rescind your position as prefect." Malfoy froze. His eyes narrowed, the gray irises darkening to nearly blend with his pupils.

"Maybe I will," he said, the words pointed and pernicious with intent.

Hermione couldn't pull her eyes from him. He was dressed exactly as he was over the summer, in head-to-toe black. A heavy silver ring, likely a family heirloom, sat on his right ring finger, the green stone like an eye boring into Hermione's gaze.

As David and Nora resumed their speech to the group, Hermione forced her face back on them even as her mind wandered.

 _It seems like Malfoy is back in all his handsome arrogance._

She involuntarily sucked in a breath, nearly choking on the internal acknowledgment.

 _Handsome? Not possible. Arrogance couldn't be handsome._

Hermione slanted her eyes to the left as the Head Boy and Girl explained scheduling for rounds. Draco stood mostly out of sight, although she could discern his blond head bowed like he couldn't be bothered by the information they were giving. Hermione returned her gaze forward, biting the smooth flesh of her lower lip.

 _Definitely not handsome. Not at all._

"Are there any questions?" David asked. The compartment remained silent, save for the shifting of discomfited bodies that were pressed too close together. "Okay then. Come get your schedules for the first two weeks."

The bodies protested as they moved forward together, sidling like a snake. One by one, the prefects collected their schedules and gratefully scooted toward the exit, where cool, fresh air beckoned. Although Hermione was near the front, she hesitated to grab her schedule.

Malfoy moved like a shadow into her peripherals, his body inexorably drawn to hers even with the growing free space of the compartment that would allow him to avoid her entirely.

"Move it, Granger. Some of us are in a hurry," Malfoy snapped as his right arm shoved into her left, the ring grazing her knuckles like a cool breeze.

Goosebumps raced up her skin. She watched him snatch his schedule from Nora's outstretched hand and as he made to stalk past her, Hermione panicked in her desire to stall him.

"S-Sorry, Malfoy," she sputtered, thrown off by the words that tumbled out.

He stiffened, just a moment, before storming through the door and slamming it. Hermione sighed, annoyed but not sure why. By now, Ron had retrieved his own schedule and bumped her shoulder to get her attention. Hermione smiled vaguely at him before taking her own schedule from Nora.

They left, some of the only prefects left in the compartment. Malfoy spirited down the aisle, his tall frame shrouded in black clothes and- by Hermione's best guess- a black mood. Ron stopped them at the trolley and after loading their arms with chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, and Bertie Bott's, the two made their way back to their compartment to dig into their sugar-laden lunch as they idly remarked on Harry's extended disappearance.

Draco, so vexed that he felt his eyebrow twitching, paused just shy of the Slytherin compartment door. He raked his hands through the ice-blond locks, disheveling the precise grooming job he fussed over this morning. Draco settled an impatient look on his face, his brows creasing over flashing gray eyes, knowing that there was no bloody way he'd be able to hide his feelings.

 _Luckily I can hide the source of them. Damn Granger._

A familiar voice carried over his shoulder, jolting him from his dawdling.

"Have a nice summer, Draco?" Blaise questioned, unwittingly conjuring further thoughts of Granger.

"What's it to you, Zabini?" He snapped before reaching for the door handle. Even with Blaise out of his line of sight, Draco could imagine the smooth one-shoulder shrug to his response.

"Just making conversation. That's what friends tend to do, right?"

Draco wrenched open the door and swiftly entered. Crabbe and Goyle lounged in the back corner with Pansy across from them. Without a word, he settled himself on top of Pansy, his head finding a comfortable pillow in her lap. She greeted Blaise who proceeded to sit across the aisle from them; through half-lidded eyes, Draco thought he saw a flash of white near Blaise's shoulder but Pansy had moved her hands into his already-ruined hair, thoroughly distracting him.

The Slytherin group sat in companionable silence to the point that Draco almost wished someone would start nattering on about the passing countryside.

Pansy broke it. "What did the Professor want, Blaise?" Her long nails scraped against Draco's scalp, not necessarily in a pleasant way. He winced from the intimacy of the act and thought about extricating himself until her question to Blaise, now processed, distracted him.

"What Professor?"

Blaise slanted a look at him, his dark eyes dancing with impatience. "Professor Slughorn. He invited a bunch of students to his compartment for lunch."

That information pulled Draco vertical as the jealousy began to build steam under his skin.

"What students? Why?" he pressed. Blaise turned his head to look out the window looking like a black silhouette against the setting sun. Pansy's fingers skipped across Draco's shoulders, running down his arms, but the eagerness that drove them only served to annoy Draco.

He swatted at her hand and continued to stare impatiently at Blaise, who finally decided to humor the little group with an answer. "He likes to surround himself with so-called talented and famous people. Naturally, Potter was invited. So was Longbottom-"

Draco scoffed, interrupting Blaise's list. "It's a sad day indeed when Longbottom is considered talented." Crabbe and Goyle laughed meanly at his quip but Draco's attention remained fully on his dark friend who returned his stare.

"Also the Weasley girl. Plus Belby, myself, and a few others I don't have the inclination of knowing."

Pansy's warm breath, heavy with the spice from pumpkin pasties, tickled his neck as she moved to lean over Draco. She cackled at Blaise and commented calculatingly, "So you have an inclination to know the Weasley girl?"

Blaise glared at her as Crabbe and Goyle erupted into laughter. Draco, now impatient with Pansy's attentions, shouldered her roughly and then shifted closer to the aisle.

"Perhaps I do, Parkinson." Blaise's voice was laced with sarcasm. "No worse than knowing Granger, I'm sure."

Draco stiffened at Blaise's comment and felt his heart pound fiercely in his chest when Blaise turned curious eyes on Draco. The stare was broken as Goyle stood up, still laughing, to grab his bag above Blaise's head. Draco's eyes drifted upwards, noting the air as it rippled strangely in the space that Goyle's bag just vacated.

Gray eyes narrowed before returning to his friends.

The remainder of the train ride to Hogwarts was uneventful, punctuated by Blaise's increasingly annoying, contemplative stares in Draco's direction. With the screeching of the train whistle announcing their arrival in Hogsmeade, the other Slytherins in the compartment gathered their belongings and headed for the exit. Draco tarried in his seat, his eyes surreptitiously on the overhead baggage rack, especially as Crabbe's fumbling for his rucksack caused another ripple to distort the empty space.

"Draco, are you coming?" Pansy queried from the door, her lips tilted into an impatient pout. Blaise stood directly behind her, his penetrating gaze all the more startling as his dark-skinned form disappeared in the recesses of the train aisle.

Draco waved them off. "I'll be right there. I want to check something." Pansy hesitated until Blaise, thankfully, pulled her from the now-empty compartment. Draco strolled to the door and clicked it into place, slowly lowering the blind over the door's small window.

He gripped his wand tightly in his left hand, agitation and a healthy dose of paranoia driving the magic down into his fingertips, awaiting release.

In a tight voice he remarked, "Your investigative skills are getting sloppy, Potter."

Draco swung around and pointed his wand at the space above the overhead storage. "Petrificus Totalus!"

His target hit the floor with a satisfying thud, although he remained invisible under that damnable cloak.

Draco strutted over; he twirled his wand between his fingers as he tried to curtail the itch to inflict further damage.

"Then again, what would you possibly be investigating? A little bit jealous of how the Slytherins live, are we?" With a flourish, Draco pulled the cloak from Potter's frozen body, his face stuck in a comical expression of shock. Draco chuckled unkindly before leaning over Potter's body.

"Stay the fuck away from me this year, Potter."

Draco straightened, brushing a hand down his smooth ensemble. He tilted his head consideringly. _Perhaps there's a different way to release this violent itch._

Without flinching, he kicked Potter in the face and grinned with the sound of bone cracking on contact.

 _That's better._

He flung the cloak back over Potter's body, now growing sticky from the flow of blood from his nose.

"Enjoy your ride back to London, as a matter of fact."

Draco turned on his heel and then grabbed his leather case from his seat before making his way off the train.

Despite the sense of victory that infused his walk with pep, an unwilling and curious mx of emotions battled for the forefront. The paranoia from before turned his stomach as he wondered if Granger had, in fact, betrayed him to her precious dimwit friends.

Underneath the paranoia though, simmered an altogether uncomfortable sensation… if he didn't know any better, he would appraise it to be chagrin.

For he knew that to injure Potter was to incite the disapproval of his friends and it wouldn't be long before Granger stormed down on him for his behavior.

He really shouldn't find the idea so stimulating.

oOo

Draco was not remotely interested in pretending he gave a shit about prefect duties but when he saw who he was paired with their 1st night back, he felt it prudent to continue the act.

For the time being, at least.

As he waited in the 4th floor corridor, Draco's stomach rolled uncomfortably. He pressed on his abdomen to calm the nerves.

 _Perhaps this isn't a great idea. Other than Snape, she is the only one to know what I am._

Draco pressed harder. After spending the remaining days of holiday numbed by firewhisky, the severity of his situation spread like poison in his veins. There was no doubt that his death- and the death of his family- was the endgame.

Draco turned to stalk back to the dungeons but was arrested by the sparking, bushy hair that sped toward him.

Granger's eyes glared with a curious mix of accusation and worry as she shoved him roughly, her hands pressed against his chest.

"Why did you feel the need to kick Harry's nose in? Is there any chance of you two ever growing up?"

Draco instinctually ensnared Granger's wrists, squeezing firmly to remind her who had the strength advantage.

"Good to see you too, Granger," he drawled though he feared he couldn't keep the veracity of that statement out of his eyes.

 _Damn it all, I am actually pleased to see her._

Her skin was warm on his palms and that sinful scent of oranges wafted up as she struggled to break free of his hold.

Obliging her, he released her wrists but couldn't help running his fore finger along the inside of her palms, relishing the shiver that rippled through her body.

 _It's good to feel her too._

Their eyes connected after he let go and Granger's pupils dilated. Warmth unwillingly pooled in Draco's belly.

 _All right, stupid. Time to back away from the edge._

He turned from Granger and strode away swiftly, grateful of each step that widened the distance between their bodies.

"Malfoy!" she huffed irritatingly while the soles of her shoes slapped against the stone floor. He slowed minutely but kept his eyes trained ahead; the churning waves of anxiety were back in his stomach, replacing the addictive warmth. Draco knew it wouldn't be long before Granger's curiosity got the better of her… he only hoped the focus would remain on Potter.

Halfway down the corridor, once they settled into a suspicious silence, Granger deftly broke it with dramatic flair by flicking his wrist hard.

"Ow!" Draco exclaimed as he shook the discomfort from his arm.

She cocked a lopsided smile. "Must be nice to have that back," she noted, her eyes dipping to indicate the Hawthorn in his hand.

Draco narrowed his eyes in warning and fisted his wand. _She wouldn't be that fucking reckless…_

Granger looked around and dropped her voice to a whisper, the smile disappearing from her face. "I wasn't sure if I would see you at the start of this school year… I've been having horrible feelings, you see-"

The worry in her voice lifted him like a well-cast Levicorpus; it had to be why he nearly flew her into a dark alcove on their right.

"Who have you told? Is that why Potter was trailing me on the train?" The questions fumbled over Draco's lips as the panic rose in his chest. He gripped her by the shoulders, pressing her body flush against the stone wall. In the dark enclosure, Granger's eyes sparked with ire and the fire in those caramel irises was the only thing Draco could see; everything else was by feel.

"How about we circle back to my original question and you tell me what happened on the train?" she said tightly, controlled as if the small space they were crowded in wouldn't contain her aggravation. Draco felt the impatience at her stubbornness rise like bile in the back of his throat but he swallowed it down; she reminded him of a damn niffler, the two incessant in their need to sniff out valuables.

"There's nothing to tell," Draco replied.

Granger bristled and immediately fought against his hold. Draco reluctantly dropped his hands but positioned his body so that she couldn't stomp out of the alcove.

"What is your problem, Malfoy? Haven't we already established some trust between us?"

He snorted, reflecting back on those fake Ministry names and then he hardened, internally cringing at the result of them.

Gray eyes bore into her. "Hardly."

She stared at him, the ire in her expression softening to one of hurt. Before he could read too much into it Granger dropped her head, their bodies so close that Draco could smell the sweet scent of the shampoo she used on those uncontrollable curls. It was vanilla, like her soap, the sweet potency cut by a woody tinge of rosemary.

 _Does she have to smell so bloody edible?_

"Perhaps we should play another round of truth or dare so that you can be reminded of what I put on the table the first time around."

 _How about I just put you on a table?_

In the darkness, Draco pinched his thigh hard and inwardly cursed the lustful direction of his thoughts. There was no time this year to waste on such pursuits, not that Granger was even worth pursuing.

She tilted her head back up to study his face, seemingly unruffled by his lack of reply. "Or," she pondered, "I could just claim my prize now. I'm rather curious about your mother."

Her screams echoed in his mind, slowly eroding the self-control that Draco was desperately relying on to see him through this miserable task. Even days later, the memories of her torture were never further than a hair trigger away, something Draco found agonizing as he believed his Occlumency skills to be exceptional.

 _What the fuck good are they if they can't block out thoughts when needed?_

He raked his hands through his hair, an angry exhale escaping from his mouth. Granger had taken to leaning against the wall in a superficially casual stance, the low light from the corridor likely throwing Draco's form in relief. If it were anyone else, he suspected he would have cursed them into next week for bringing up his Mum but no, it was Granger.

 _Go fucking figure._

He eventually relented under her unwavering gaze. "Potter was spying on the compartment. He must have snuck in when Blaise and I returned from our meetings. We didn't talk of anything but Slughorn and his stupid club but I gathered why Potter was there."

Draco looked pointedly at Granger now, moving closer so that he could catch the deceit flicker in her eyes. She never broke eye contact but she did inhale swiftly as his body encroached on her space.

She rewarded him though- truth for truth. "Harry thinks you're a Death Eater after we saw you enter Borgin and Burkes that day in Knockturn Alley."

Draco stiffened. Granger tentatively placed a hand on his left arm, her fingers recklessly close to his Dark Mark. He made to recoil but she gripped him, forcing his attention back to her face.

"I didn't tell him and I didn't confirm his suspicions. You can trust me," she whispered as her other hand lightly creeped up his chest. "I don't know why but you can."

Against his better judgment, Draco sagged with visible relief. He knew there was terrible risk for one of the Golden Trio to know his secret but he also knew, at this point, that Granger was no liar. _At least, not a good one._

Draco's forehead connected gently with the wall right over Granger's shoulder. Her hands turned to vises on his body as if she could hold up his weight; he didn't bother to correct the ridiculous notion.

For a few moments, Draco just focused on the rhythm of their steady breaths as they inched closer to rapid little pulls of air, out of sync and toeing the line of wild. He turned his head just enough so his eyes could rake over her profile, startled to see that her own wide brown irises were staring at him.

He exhaled and nodded his head once, briskly, the gesture unconsciously bringing him closer to her face.

Granger leaned into the admission like it was a breath of fresh air. The smallest slice of space kept their lips from connecting. Draco felt inexorably drawn into those bottomless brown eyes.

Then his mother's slight and listless frame flashed in his mind. He pulled back abruptly. Cold air and logic rushed into the deserted space.

"Finish up the round for me," Draco clipped before he bolted from the alcove and back to his dormitory.


	15. Amortentia Doesn't Lie

**Amortentia doesn't Lie**

* * *

" _One of the hardest battles we fight is between what we know and what we feel." -Anon._

The Great Hall teemed with the excitable conversations that result from September nerves as both new and old students settled into their schooling.

Draco hated it. Whatever potential excitement that year six held had been stolen away from him the moment the Dark Lord had ripped into his body with Morsmorde. He dropped onto the Slytherin bench next to Theodore Nott and grabbed grouchily for the coffee.

Come to think of it, he hated mornings too.

After lightening his coffee considerably with cream, Draco slouched moodily and nursed the mug of hot liquid, waiting for it to have a desirable effect on his black mood. An elbow nudged his, causing a bit of coffee to slosh over the rim.

"What the fuck, Nott?"

Theodore smirked at his friend's language. "Good morning to you too, sunshine."

Draco slid down the bench away from Theo. "Sod off."

Theo continued through his breakfast of rashers and eggs, unrankled.

"Now, now, what kind of friend would I be not to take advantage of bothering you during your favorite time of day?" He paused to chew, his overlong dark waves falling into sapphire-blue eyes that glinted with mischief.

"Besides, you'll be happy in about a half hour when we're the only two brains waltzing into Advanced Potions."

"Still can't count, Theo?" Blaise mocked lightly as he took a seat across from them. He buttered some toast and added marmalade with precise, dignified movements before taking a bite and correcting Theo.

"There will be three brains; I'm taking Potions too."

 _Four if you count Granger. Ironic that she's not considering she's ranked top of the class._

Draco polished off his coffee as the other two Slytherins traded inconsequential quips. He looked down the table to observe the jittery twitches of the 1st years; if Crabbe and Goyle were awake- a laughable notion now that they had a free first block- he could imagine them terrorizing the kids.

The idea no longer held appeal, even with his sour mood.

Instead, he was bombarded by the memory of his mother's terror, intensified by the twisted reality of the Dark Lord living in his home, rooting through his mind, and carefully tugging the noose that is the murder of Dumbledore.

"Hey Drake," Theo's annoyingly snarky voice cut through his mental meandering, "care to join us?"

Theo and Blaise stood near the bench, both peering at Draco with nearly identical expressions of careful speculation. He grabbed a green apple from a platter on the table and led the little trio from the Great Hall.

The potions classroom was already filled with the roster taking Advanced Potions. A clear distinction could be seen between the 6th year Gryffindors assembled near the built-in shelving and the empty space by the wall meant for the 6th year Slytherins. Marcus Belby already stood across from the two Gryffindors, silent in shadows.

Four potions, already brewed, were set on a table at the front of the classroom. As the three Slytherins passed the table for their "designated" space, Draco caught the drifting essence of Granger and her sweet orange soap; Draco fought the urge to look over his shoulder and check whether Granger had moved closer to the center of the room.

Slughorn strolled into the room, whistling, as they relaxed against the wall. Granger was still by the shelving, trading pleasantries with Dean Thomas. Slughorn started a rather cheerful and much-too-verbose- for Draco's taste- introduction about Advanced Potions when the worst sight imaginable appeared before his eyes. Potter and Weasley. In Advanced Potions.

"Salazar save us," Theo muttered. Draco discreetly grunted his agreement as his eyes trailed over to Granger, who was looking slightly perplexed at their presence.

After Slughorn directed the boys to a cupboard holding spare textbooks, he launched back in with the class.

"There are three potions here that, if diligent, you should be able to brew by the end of the year. Can anyone identify them?"

Predictably, Granger's hand rose into the air. Usually he was less than thrilled to listen to Granger show off and in his current mood, he felt like it would be no small mercy if someone just cursed off his ears.

Inside his head, where all manner of other unpleasant thoughts buzzed, Draco still felt absorbed by the morbid thoughts of Voldemort and his proximity in Draco's life until the more palpable memory of Granger in the alcove pushed to the forefront.

The almost-kiss pulsed through his body like it was a living thing. He felt stimulated and unfulfilled all at the same time and Draco wished he could just cut off its air supply so it would die quietly and leave him in relative peace.

 _It could never work._

Draco felt like he could still taste the perceived sweetness of her breath.

 _A Malfoy would never stoop to be attracted to a muggleborn._

He could have drowned in those brown eyes.

 _There's expectations… and not an insignificant amount of fear of my imminent death._

She had smelled like she sprouted from nature, all crisp woods and summer citrus.

"That's Amortentia, sir. A love potion. It's rumored to smell differently for every person based on what attracts them." Granger's eyes had darkened as she spoke, the words rolling lazily off her tongue. "For example I smell freshly mown grass and parchment and-"

The chocolate brown irises flicked almost imperceptibly in Draco's direction and that smallest motion had the effect of lightning; he felt bolted to the ground with electricity alighting all his nerves.

Slughorn beamed. "Excellent job, Miss- ?"

"Granger."

"Ah! Granger… Harry this must have been the friend you were talking about over the summer? Brightest of your class?"

Theo coughed into his fist but Draco slanted his eyes at his friend in warning, intent on staying in Slughorn's good graces, especially with his penchant for collecting potentially famous and talented magicals.

Marcus Belby, still hidden in the shadows of the classroom, spoke up.

"Professor, you still haven't told us what that small vial contains."

Slughorn smiled smugly. "That, dear Belby, is a curious potion known as Felix Felicis or better as liquid luck."

Draco inhaled swiftly, trying to ignore the subtle shift in his friends' attentions.

"You all have the opportunity to earn this small vial today. It will be given to the student that brews the best batch of Draught of Living Death. You may begin."

Everyone in the room scattered to the tables, pulling hurriedly at their cauldrons and tools. The faint smell of smoke permeated the space as fires were lit, while the haphazard chopping of knives beat against the worn-down tables.

Blaise had settled across from him with Belby and Theo at a table to his left. Draco could almost sense Granger in his line of sight and when he glanced up, under the presumption that he would ask Blaise a question, he saw her over his friend's shoulder.

Thankfully, her back faced him. She worked her hands through that bird's nest she called hair and secured it with a tie.

"Draco," Blaise murmured although he kept his eyes on his potion ingredients. He refocused and started in on his potion, cataloguing all the ways that little vial of luck would benefit him, not the least being that he could succeed in his task and keep his family safe. Keep himself safe.

Following the recipe to the letter, Draco stirred in various ingredients and felt cautiously confident as the smoke dissipated from the surface of the liquid.

"Five more minutes!" Slughorn announced, the pressure of time now weighting Draco's movements and making him feel suddenly clumsy and desperate.

"That's time, ladies and gentlemen. Step away from the cauldrons." Draco's heart stuttered in his throat as Slughorn perused the various students' cauldrons, keeping his face neutral through the inspection.

Despite his potion remaining unfinished- due to his delayed start- Slughorn afforded a rare nod to his work.

Draco was already smirking with perceived victory.

"By Salazar, it's perfect!" Slughorn exclaimed.

Confusion crested in Draco's chest, the smirk erased from his face as he saw Slughorn test Potter's apparently 'perfect' potion. Slughorn clapped in unbridled glee, congratulating Potter as the winner.

"You've certainly inherited your mother's gift for potions, Harry. Well done."

The Gryffindors reluctantly clapped for their housemate. The Slytherins glowered. Slughorn dismissed the class. Blaise nodded his head as he headed to Herbology while Draco and Theo climbed through the castle to Arithmancy.

"Must it always be fucking Potter?" Draco grumbled, mostly to himself.

"Why, didn't you hear? He's a natural born potions master," Theo quipped, jumping the last step as the staircase moved away from the 5th floor corridor.

"Shut it, Theo."

"No, no. I can see it now." Theo had thrown his arm out dramatically, almost hitting Draco in the face. "Potter the Potions Master. Tanked abominably for five years before he dug deep into those genes. A bloody gift, he is."

"You really don't know when to shut it, do you?" Draco cut him a scathing look as he entered the Arithmancy classroom. Granger had beat the boys there. She sat at the front center table next to one of the Patils; Draco didn't care to keep track of them.

Out of an unexpected flare of defiance only fueled by his rapidly descending mood, Draco stalked to the front and sat at the table across the aisle from Granger. Theo followed suit although he raised a supercilious eyebrow that Draco caught in his peripherals, busy as he was pulling quill, ink, and parchment from his case.

When done arranging the items on the table, he placed the leather case by his feet and slowed his upward movements to catch Granger's gaze.

A single finger of pleasure raked down his spine when he found those too-familiar eyes blatantly on him, narrowed and shrewd.

Professor Vector entered the room then and immediately jumped into a no-nonsense introduction of the syllabus and expectations in the classroom.

"For today, I'd like you to split into pairs and start work on this problem that we will discuss next class."

Draco turned to Theo who was already opening his textbook, his face having creased with seriousness over the problem that magically appeared on the board. He found it fascinating how Theo could joke his way through every situation, no matter how awkward or inappropriate, but turn utterly solemn once schoolwork was involved. Draco remembered the time he teased Theo about it and all his childhood friend said, deadpan, was "Father doesn't approve of poor grades."

Draco never mocked after that.

The two Slytherins pored over their notes and commiserated in low tones as they slowly worked through the multiple, complex steps of the problem. At one point, both Draco and Theo were stumped. Knowing that Professor Vector preferred students to work amongst themselves, Draco decided this would be a perfect time to provoke Granger.

He leaned back in his chair, fussing with a few errant strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead.

"Hey Granger," Draco called out. The front row of students froze as all their eyes turned on Draco; Granger's were wavering between irritation and… alarm?

 _What in the bloody hell is she worried about?_

"We require your big brain." She stiffened at his words and then turned back to Patil, scribbling fervently on their shared parchment.

Theo leaned over the table to get in Granger's purview.

"Aw, Granger, don't punish me for his bad manners. I could use a more useful guide than him." Theo jerked his head at Draco and then smirked at Granger, challenge curving his lips.

She let go a long-suffering sigh before capitulating; without looking at either Draco or Theo, she pulled their parchment over and notated the place where they made a mistake.

Theo was completely absorbed by her review but Draco couldn't focus past her proximity as it beat an awful echo through his body. The faintest tinge of oranges emanated from her exposed throat which confused Draco considering how strong the scent was in the potion's classroom.

Realization crept up slowly, like a stalking beast, until it was sitting full on his chest and he was left struggling for breath.

 _The Amortentia smelled like Granger? Voldemort might as well kill me now._

Theo was working the problem under Granger's guidance while he muttered "that makes sense" under his breath. Once she seemed satisfied by his progress, she pushed off the table to return to her own seat but the panic swelled and toppled right out of Draco's mouth.

"Granger," he urged, as he fought to keep his form draped casually over the table.

"I'm not going over it again just because you chose not to pay attention," she lectured, her perky little nose turned up and away from Draco.

"No. Granger." He stalled, acutely aware of Theo openly watching the exchange but the panic wouldn't ebb even as his iron self-control battered against it so instead, he tempered his voice into a weak version of mockery and asked, "How about a truth, Granger? What else did you smell in that Amortentia… maybe Weaselbee's hair?"

Theo snorted and went back to the Arithmancy problem, seemingly satisfied that he just witnessed another of Draco's typical provocations.

Granger, though, blanched at his words. The reaction didn't appease Draco in the least.

 _Fuck, Granger. Say something._

With awe-inspiring skill, Granger willed the blood to return to her face and her eyes to harden with pure, unfiltered rage. Draco watched as she strode back to her seat and picked up with the Patil as if nothing had happened.

If only _his_ self-control would behave that way.

Less than ten minutes later, Professor Vector announced the end of class and he scowled at the speed with which Granger disappeared out the door.

Theo was grumbling about distracted partners but Draco explicitly ignored his friend's complaints as he packed up his things. It wasn't until they were walking back to the dormitory that he discovered Theo expected a response.

"What are you playing at, Drake? It almost seemed like you and Granger have a history."

Draco scoffed at Theo's prodding. "You know we do," he replied off-handedly.

Theo persevered. "A recent history, then."

Draco halted in the thankfully empty corridor and looked his friend dead in the eye, mulling over exactly how to phrase his response.

"Don't meddle, Nott." He warned, the darkness crowding in his eyes hammering the point home. "It's out of your hands."

There was a pause almost bursting from the weight of all the unvoiced questions. Draco started moving down the hallway.

"It's out of mine too."

Theo, only half a step behind him, cursed. "Fucking hell."

Once arriving back at the dorm, Draco left Theo in the common room with Blaise and muttered he would return for lunch in a moment. The 6th year bedroom was blessedly empty so Draco dropped all pretense and his case then rushed to his desk, scrambling for Granger's journal in the hopes that there was an answer to his ridiculous, inappropriate question.

A question that was better left unanswered. _It was better left unsaid but that didn't stop me._

He groaned in frustration as he skipped through the pages to the most recent entry written days ago; now, however, a new and unexpectedly brief entry stained a blank page. The breath backed up in Draco's throat at seeing the abnormal, rushed scrawl of three simple words that could altogether decimate him.

Sep 2

Green apples. Really?!


	16. Nighttime Wanderings

**Nighttime Wanderings**

* * *

" _A fond kiss and then we sever,_

 _A farewell and then, forever" -Robert Burns_

The first Saturday of term burned bright blue behind Hermione's closed eyelids and even though there was a mountain of homework waiting for her, she knew Ron would kill her if she didn't show for Quidditch tryouts.

 _He could use all the support he can get._ She winced at the ungracious undertone of the thought but grumbled all the same because _Quidditch._

Hermione threw on a blue jumper with trousers and ran her hands through some of the more stubborn curls that framed her face. Sighing in defeat, she grabbed a coat and crept quietly from the bedroom, envious of her fellow housemates' peaceful slumber.

The Great Hall was busier than she expected; the Gryffindor table buzzed with apprehension as all the students vying for a spot on the team crammed down breakfast. A few Ravenclaws were openly staring at Harry like he was their favorite treat from Honeyduke's, now that the rumors of him being the 'Chosen One' had circulated; Hermione glared at them as she walked past and dropped into a seat across from Ron.

She yawned and poured herself some coffee, searching for the cream.

"Where's the cream?" she grumbled as the boys failed to assist her in her search for caffeinated bliss.

"It's at the other end," Harry motioned, distracted. One hand rifled through his black hair as he scanned the tryout list. Hermione glared at him before maneuvering down the table to find the creamer; it was in front of Cormac McLaggen who lounged rather arrogantly against the table.

"Are you done with the creamer," she asked, a bit unsure around the stocky 7th year. Despite being in Gryffindor, he wasn't one to immerse himself in the camaraderie of the house, especially if the people were younger than him.

"Ah, Granger! Come to watch me dominate the competition at tryouts? I think it's pretty likely since it's only Weasley." He grinned at her, the edges pulled almost viciously into his cheeks. Hermione stared, perturbed.

 _Why would McLaggen care? Come to think of it, why would he think I would go against my best friend?_

His eyes glinted appraisingly at her as he waited for a response. Hermione shook loose her shock and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm not the best judge of Quidditch. May I take the creamer?" Without waiting for an answer, she snatched the small pitcher and headed back to her end of the table, missing the leer that McLaggen angled at her hips and the narrowed gray eyes across the hall that tracked the whole encounter.

Harry and Ron stood to head outside so Hermione abandoned her untouched coffee after a long look of longing and followed.

The morning sun radiated down from the sky and with only the faintest cool breeze in the air, the atmosphere was ideal for flying.

Not that Hermione knew or cared.

She climbed up into a Gryffindor stand after wishing luck to Ron, and situated herself on an empty bench. Even with the railing in the front row, Hermione's stomach dropped the length of the stand to the grass; she couldn't imagine ever getting over her fear of heights.

The light near blinded her view of the pitch and she suddenly felt disoriented as her mind unveiled different days filled with summer sun, moments occupied by the varying white gold of silky hair and skin.

Hermione attempted to turn her attention back to the pitch where tryouts had begun, but she truly couldn't care less...especially when a more intriguing puzzle beckoned her.

Initially, she had hoped returning to Hogwarts and a semblance of normality would have stomped out any lingering confusion she had over Malfoy but all that blew up in her face after she smelled the Amortentia.

 _How is it that I'm smelling green apples? And_ _why_ _do I associate it with Malfoy?_

A single recollection unfurled, bringing back a morning of carefully crafted compromise alongside lukewarm coffee and… apples. Tart, green, Granny Smith apples.

Hermione gripped the bench hard, vaguely registering Ron struggle to re-mount his broom. She glanced over at McLaggen who sat with a cocky tilt to his shoulders.

Dislike shuddered through her body. McLaggen reminded her of the looming shadows that made her redirect her path through the castle, no matter how long or inconvenient the detour.

Alarmingly and in contrast, Malfoy had the opposite effect; despite their recent animosity, he drew her in with his unconvincing derision and heated remarks… the warmth too tantalizing to dismiss.

 _What would happen if I get too close?_

Her heartbeat accelerated but not to the erratic pace of anxiety. Intrigue beat through her blood like a drum gathering speed and the cool, Scottish highland air proved relieving to her flushed skin. The scent memory of green apples haunted her but not so much as Malfoy's odd question in class on Monday, especially because he never lowered himself to talk to her in public.

The taunt, though, had been calculated and it hit its mark; Hermione bemoaned the idea that Malfoy had risen so far and so quickly in his attractiveness that Ron no longer proved interesting… but Amortentia doesn't lie.

 _And neither will Malfoy when I get a hold of him. He's going to tell me exactly what he's playing at._

Satisfied, Hermione focused on the final round of tryouts. Harry signaled with 5 fingers after Ron's final save, alerting everyone to his perfect run. She turned her eyes toward McLaggen as the final quaffle traveled between flyers toward his hoops.

The dislike raged once again and without conscious thought, Hermione muttered "Confundus" and watched in perverted delight as McLaggen missed his final goal.

 _Perhaps being cunning has its perks._

oOo

It wasn't quite yet curfew but Draco hurried along the corridor anyway. With Blaise at that stupid Slughorn dinner and Theo being all studious, Draco knew that this Sunday evening would be a perfect time to sneak away and evaluate the Vanishing Cabinet.

Draco rolled his wand between both palms as he pondered his next move. He succeeded in sneaking into the Room of Lost Things where he knew the Cabinet was last hidden. The Vanishing Cabinet looked beyond repair based on his thorough inspection, even after it took ages to find the bloody thing, which only meant that Draco would have to consider alternative solutions for the task.

Restless magic crackled along his skin where the wood made contact, somewhat soothing his agitation from the failed jaunt to the upper floors. In the morning, he'd send a report home on the condition of the cabinet and check on his mother as well since he couldn't count on his father to keep her safe.

A bolt of energy exploded from his wand at the ungrateful thought and hit the stone wall of the corridor, leaving a crack the length of his pointer finger.

Draco sighed at the emotional burst of his magic then froze as hurried footsteps grew louder from around the corner. He relaxed his stance a touch and ran a hand down an already smooth shirt.

Her hair preceded her. Granger skidded around the corner looking exceptionally tousled, her face flush and breathing rapid and Draco stiffened at the unsavory scenarios that flickered across his mind.

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed, putting a hand to her heaving chest. "Did you hear that noise?" Granger pulled up to within a half meter of him and peered around. He inhaled slowly and instantly regretted it, remembering too late that her scent now carried the weight of Amortentia.

"What are you doing here?"

Granger's probing eyes sought his and, as if only just noticing their proximity, she stepped back with a blush hot on her cheeks,

Draco wondered if the heat would taste as good as it would feel in this ridiculously drafty pile of stones. He only widened his eyes impatiently at her, waiting for an answer.

She continued taking timid steps back the way she came. "Slughorn's dinner just wrapped up. I'm sure if you hurry, you can catch Zabini." At that, she turned and rounded the corner from where she came. Draco stalked behind her, intent on discovering what led to her current disheveled appearance.

"So did Scar-head abandon you then?" he remarked casually, oddly incensed when her shoulders stiffened.

"He couldn't make the dinner." She lobbed the response over her shoulder, almost like it was too unwieldy.

Picking up pace, Draco came even with her in the corridor and he watched as her eyes danced everywhere except to his face.

 _She's guilty. But of what?_

Draco snorted to cover up his growing anger. "So he left you to fend for yourself? Some friend."

"I was fine!" she retorted, those amber eyes finally finding purchase on his face. He cocked one pale eyebrow at her.

"Oh really. Isn't that sod McLaggen one of Slug's chosen?" Draco spat the word, not in the least concerned by her flinch. "I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw his stocky ass. You're no match for him."

"I have my wand," she said dismissively, the more-than-usual unruly curls swaying with the shake of her head.

Jealousy, unbidden, choked him from the inside. He lashed out in the hopes of breaking its hold but all he accomplished was pushing Granger hard into the nearest stone wall. Their ragged breaths mingled between them like some nebulous barrier and Draco longed to dive through it head-first, lips-first.

"How, exactly, would it have helped you?" he gritted harshly, his fingertips likely leaving blue-black marks on her wrists. He pressed tighter.

She leaned towards him. "What's this about?"

He smirked at her, now thoroughly enjoying the angry heat her body was throwing because it was recognizable.

 _Tousled, looking far-too-sexually-satisfied Granger? Not recognizable. Not fucking tolerable._

"That's awfully broad, Granger. Are you talking about life? I can't say anyone really knows the meaning of that," he poked. His hands loosened their severe grip as Draco idly took to ghosting into the dips of her splayed fingers, the delicate skin like a whispered secret against his own.

The anger backed out of Granger's eyes, now replaced with an almost honey-liquid uncertainty.

"No! I mean… this." She stared at him. "All this back and forth. I thought we were done playing games." Her voice tapered off at the end as her eyes flickered from the quicksilver of his to his slightly upturned mouth.

Draco leaned in, galvanized by her intake of breath.

"Who said we were done playing? After all, I asked for a truth- why don't you tell me what you smelled in that Amortentia?"

Her lips were parted from the huffy little pants escaping her mouth but he could feel the echo of a shiver chase down her back as she inhaled swiftly with her nose.

Draco was sure he could feel his pupils dilate at her reaction because nothing registered past the sun-kissed face in front of him with those ridiculously frizzy curls and wide eyes taking up half her face and those full, bossy lips…

"Why do you want to know so badly?" she whispered a bit suspiciously, the question almost swallowed by him before he could process it.

"Now, now Granger. Slytherins don't give out anything for free. Perhaps this will loosen that smart mouth."

And then Draco kissed her, swallowing her gasp like it was a fortifying shot of Firewhisky. Except it tasted so much better. He felt the slightest tightening of her face before she relaxed into him.

He pressed into her lips, absurdly grateful to find them not swollen, as if a sod like McLaggen had any right to taste her.

He licked the seam of her lips and she opened on a sigh so he plunged his tongue inside to chart the depths of her mouth. The warm, soft walls of her cheeks...the even line of her bottom teeth...he drank in the taste of her barely audible moans and wondered if he was tasting goodness for the first time.

Draco released her wrists to dive into her hair, finding a curl to wind around his finger like a bind.

She thrusted her tongue forward to greet his, a tentative slide belying her innocence and he groaned with the knowledge of Granger's inexperience.

 _A fucking blank canvas._

And so he painted her with bold strokes of his tongue against hers, with curious swirls of his fingers against her scalp. She gripped his shoulders so hard that her nails were surely leaving indents in his skin but the pain only magnified the pleasure.

Draco finally broke away only because the breathlessness pressed on his lungs to the point of discomfort. Granger and he panted, the sound overloud in the silent corridor. He was busy untangling his fingers carefully from the knots he created when she murmured belatedly,

"It wasn't Ron's hair. That I smelled."

Her admission reverberated louder than their combined panting. Draco roved over her face a second more before stepping back and slamming his self-control into place.

 _Too little, too late you ass._

"You would have been no match for McLaggen. Cads can be persuasive. You should remember that if Potter is going to remain useless."

Her brow furrowed, the hurt as prevalent as the confusion settling onto features that only moments ago shined from bliss.

Draco refused to feel any semblance of guilt as she turned back down the corridor to resume walking, presumably to the Gryffindor dorms. He trailed behind silently since he had nothing better to do… at least until she was back inside her common room.

The silence was so big that it felt like a third person was traveling along with them but no matter how uncomfortable its presence was, Draco would not shake it off. They could use the chaperone.

Granger stopped at a staircase, gazing intently up toward a group of portraits at the top of the landing, one of a fat opera singer dwarfing the rest.

She tilted her head in Draco's direction but didn't raise her eyes.

"I can make it from here."

His stormy gray gaze bore into her profile but she did not move. An inexplicable, hollow ache opened up in his chest. He risked a brisk nod in her direction before turning on his heel and heading back toward the dungeons, tamping down on the desire to look back. Despite every step putting distance between Granger, that utterly-wrong kiss and himself, the hollow ache only grew until he almost choked on it, the taste of regret bittersweet in his mouth.

Draco paused before the stretch of wall that hid the Slytherin dormitories and exhaled as if he could blow out the regret that threatened unconscionably bad decisions.

 _It was one kiss. It won't happen again._

He inhaled the damp air of the underground, a bit dejected that it chased away the richness of Granger and desire.

 _Fuck. It can't happen again._

He muttered the password and entered the common room, annoyed to find many of the students from the upper years still lounging on the leather couches and chairs. The annoyance flared quickly to resentment as Blaise ambled his way over. Draco continued his trek toward the bedroom corridor but stalled once Blaise approached.

He stared a moment too long before flitting his eyes over their audience.

"You almost didn't make curfew," Blaise drawled, the observation as cool as the temperature of the room.

"What, are you my keeper?" Draco scoffed back and moved to pass by his too-curious friend. Blaise backed up deftly but stayed with him.

"I just find it interesting that you were out, who-knows-where, and Slughorn's party only just let out." Blaise paused as he folded his hands into his trouser pockets. "Find one of the "chosen" intriguing? Maybe I could be of help."

The "fuck off" burned the back of Draco's throat but he resisted once he saw that the pair of them had drawn near where Pansy lounged, legs thrown over the arm of her chair. Even though her eyes were trained on her manicured nails, Draco didn't trust the tilt of her head.

He looked to Blaise and cocked his head in the direction of their shared bedroom.

He shot back, "As if I need your help" then stalked down the corridor and entered his bedroom, simultaneously grateful and vexed that only Theo occupied the space at present. His russet-colored head was buried in a book but he looked up with blurry, blue eyes when Draco entered and cocked an arrogant eyebrow when Blaise followed. Theo marked his space in the text and then swung around in his chair.

"Oh, are we having a top-secret meeting now?"

Draco didn't see the dirty look that Blaise shot his other friend because he moved to his own corner, staring mindlessly down at his desk where that blasted journal sat hidden- perhaps even now displaying the withheld emotions of post-kiss Granger.

"Come on, Drake, you're killing me with the suspense."

Blaise muttered, "For fuck's safe, Theo." Draco turned and saw him standing in the door frame in the same manner that he lounged in the common room, like he had all the time in the world.

"I'm telling you what I told Theo. It's out of your control," Draco's tone was low as the severity of his confession weighed in his voice.

"What's out of your control?"

"Is this about Granger again?" Theo blurted. Blaise turned sharply in his direction.

"How do you know? What do you know?"

Theo tapped his knee flippantly. "That's who I am. I'm the knower of things." Blaise rolled his eyes at his friend's inability to be serious and looked back at Draco for elaboration. Draco felt the tension of the room like it was a fog, a creeping clamminess on his skin that also made it difficult to talk.

Then again, the topic was Granger and she was nothing but difficult.

Despite the familiarity he shared with the two boys, Draco felt no compulsion to further embroil them in the shit-show he inherited from his father; not to mention, his unwilling yet undeniable attraction to Granger was clearly becoming difficult to hide from them.

"It's complicated," Draco gritted out, wishing that would be enough but no- these were Slytherins he was talking to. They wouldn't stop until they tasted one's deepest, most desperate secret.

"What are you playing at, Draco?" Blaise questioned. Draco was coming to hate that line as it was being asked far too often.

He exhaled before admitting, "We have a history that, due to circumstances out of my control," he punched the word as he glared at his friends, "has become a shared present. I can't- " he paused as the sweat beaded up along his hairline. "I can't let it get out of hand."

Silence abounded; then, Theo threw his elbows up on his desk and leaned back.

"I repeat, fucking hell."

Blaise just stared tiredly and then dropped the fathomless black eyes to study the ancient stone floor. "I would think this goes without saying but I will do so anyway- you can come to us if you need help."

Draco nodded his head in unvoiced appreciation and looked to his bed. "I really can't."

Exhaustion pressed on Draco's eyelids with a force that could not be denied much longer but thankfully, Theo always knew how to close a conversation with dramatic flair.

He shrugged before turning to his own bed. "Then don't let your shit get out of hand."

* * *

 **A/N: I just wanted to take a moment to thank those of you who have stuck with reading this fantastical foray; there are some days that just don't feel complete now, until I write down the drama that is Draco and Hermione. As much as I do this for myself, I hope you are enjoying it. And also, to my beta (JG) who reminds me that I got this...6 months in, I still don't believe her, but I am grateful nonetheless.**


	17. Blind Trust

**A/N: It's been a absolutely delightful two weeks for me since my last post because the interest in the story has grown dramatically! I welcome all the new followers and thank those who have reviewed- it's getting me through a particularly sticky scene at the moment that just. won't. budge. And thank you to the mother of this world- JK Rowling.**

* * *

 **Blind Trust**

* * *

" _She wore a smile like a loaded gun." -Atticus_

In the cold, cruel light of morning, Draco concluded that he was a right idiot. Not only was the kiss a complete fucking mistake that, if he allowed it to go further, could get them killed before he could breathe a protest, Draco also knew that an entanglement with Granger was a distraction that he couldn't afford.

Family came first. Always.

Still, the self-loathing settled in like a permanent house guest and proceeded to wreak havoc on every facet of his life even with Blaise and Theo back to acting normal.

Over the course of the following week, he sent a progress report home and in turn received a scathing set-down by his father that annoyingly didn't include an update on his mother. He also completely botched his potion with Slughorn looking on, failed to come up with a suitable alternative to the broken Vanishing Cabinet, and saw McLoser approach Granger no less than 4 times during meals.

It was enough to drive a lesser man to murder.

Just then, Draco glared over an oblivious Goyle's shoulder as McLaggen approached Granger again while the dimwit duo looked on ignorantly, proving that the moniker was well-earned.

Draco pushed away a barely-eaten roast and decided that, if he ever intended on finishing a meal in peace in the future, he needed to put to rest his curiosity.

 _Liar. You mean jealousy._

A growl worked its way up his throat, rumbling against his clamped teeth. He adjusted the family ring so the crest faced upwards then he stood and strutted across the hall to Gryffindor table, a comfortable smirk curling his lips. Potter stiffened at Draco's nearing proximity but Weasley, with his back facing Draco, couldn't smell conflict until it was whacking him in the back of the head.

 _Capital idea, that._

"Hey Weasley," Draco confronted, his gray eyes straining at the peripherals as Granger came into view. She sat next to Ron with McLaggen looming over the table toward her like some obnoxious twat.

 _Not your best insult there, mate._

Neither noticed his approach since Cormac was too busy bragging. "I'm playing Quidditch with some mates tomorrow. You should come and watch how it's supposed to be played." From Draco's limited purview, Granger's eyes only flicked up at McLaggen's advancing face before she hummed noncommittally and returned to her textbook.

Draco thought about what kind of hex he could cast non-verbally at McLaggen but thought it better to focus solely on Weasley, his main reason for approaching the table.

 _Another lie._

He postured to the red-head, "I heard you made the team again. Helps when your best friend is captain, hm?" Potter stood up, glaring daggers.

"Sod off, Malfoy."

Draco full-on grinned. "Guess it also helps when your friend stands up for you too. What's the matter, Weasley? Drawing a blank… oh, wait, that's your status quo."

Silverware clanked against a plate unpleasantly as Weasley whirled around and stood to face Draco. However, Weasley's red and bulging features couldn't hold Draco's attention as he heard the muffled chuckle from the other side of the table.

McLaggen had moved back to a standing position and was fully engrossed in the exchange, laughing openly at Weasley's frustration.

Relieved that he drew Gryffin-dick's attention away from Granger, Draco flicked his eyes to her briefly and felt the prickle of dissatisfaction on the back of his neck as she packed up her things and exited behind him, muttering, "Never going to grow up."

Draco stiffened. The sweet tinge of wistfulness curdled from the wave of embarrassment that swept over him. He turned the ugly emotion onto Weasley; the idiot who had the affections of Granger yet couldn't see past his own insecurities.

Gray eyes hardened over a ferocious snarl. "Nice chat, Weasley. Or rather, not. Next time, feel free to participate." The red-head lunged but Potter just caught him as Draco swept from his enemies' table, sparing a nod to Theo who was standing with hands braced at Slytherin table. His posture instantly softened as he grinned back and brazenly applauded in Draco's direction.

He headed for the library and scoured every row, back to front, and found no trace of that sparking, cocoa-colored bird's nest. She must have retreated to the tower.

 _Coward._ The thought bounced around his head, a damning echo.

As he sulked his way back towards the dungeons, Draco reflected on the incident in the Great Hall, of the many men crowding the fringes of Granger's attention and despised the acidic taste of jealousy pooling in his mouth.

 _Fucking gits. The lot of them. They all need to stay out of my way._

The echo from before only grew louder.

The last Monday of September previewed Fall's tenacious grip on the Scottish wilderness. The coffee in Draco's hand at breakfast was not enough to warm his insides so he relented to the temptation of hot porridge and spooned himself a bowl. Using a knife, Draco meticulously peeled an apple and then tossed it in the air, thinking 'Diffindo' hard.

The tart flesh fell in chunks into his bowl. Satisfaction swept over him. Before he could dig in, though, a warm hand pressed into the nape of his neck.

"Nice trick," Pansy purred before she sat herself inappropriately close to Draco on the bench. He swatted at her hand and discreetly scooted a dozen centimeters away while she reached for some toast.

"I'm practicing," he replied. Pansy set to buttering her toast, either not hearing or not listening to Draco.

He proceeded to spoon his breakfast in, thankful that some of its warmth suffused into his limbs. Idly, he wondered if he should be more worried that Pansy's silence produced no reaction from him. He then wondered if his non-reaction meant he was already too deep with Granger.

 _There's nothing to get deep into._

His groin twitched in protest. That one kiss between them hadn't even afforded him the chance to learn much of her mouth. And the rest of her… he was growing pretty bad at lying to himself.

Draco's spoon hit the bottom of the porridge bowl with a clank, jarring him from that rather reckless thought spiral. Grabbing his case, Draco left the Hall and headed for the potions classroom. Theo was already setting up at the Slytherin table, his cauldron pristine and notes all orderly, the incorrigible git.

"Why weren't you at breakfast?" Draco snapped, annoyed that he had no idea what put him in such a terrible mood.

"Some of us subsist on charm alone," Theo quipped cheerfully as he put the final touch on his workspace. He scanned Draco with taunting sapphire eyes. "I know the concept may be difficult for you to comprehend."

Draco scowled.

Shortly thereafter, the rest of the Advanced Potions class filtered in with Slughorn tailing a rather frazzled Potter. Draco's bad mood lifted a little.

"Class, don't get comfortable at your regular seats. Today's assignment requires otherwise."

The 6th years groaned in unison, the dislike of change the only thing they apparently shared in common. Theo just crossed his arms in protest.

"Madam Pince is running low on certain remedies and has requested the assistance of my advanced classes with replenishing them. Since these particular brews are at a rather rudimentary level, I'd like to see how you work with one another. So," he paused and circulated his substantial girth around the tables, "let's have Zabini, Nott, Wallaby, and Dean, is it? You work on the pain relief potion… 4 batches will do."

Draco's heart dropped. So much for the lift to his bad mood.

"So Harry, Miss Granger, Belby, and Malfoy- please work on the blood replenishing potion."

Draco suppressed a sigh, the melancholic exhale of breath becoming a bit too routine in his everyday life; then, he moved away from Theo, knowing his friend was claiming the table as his team's workspace. He reluctantly planted himself across from the two chummy Gryffindorks at the front, right table.

They murmured to each other under their breath, oblivious to his presence. A twitch developed in his eye. Finally Belby joined them a minute later and the limit of Draco's etiquette training was reached.

"Are we going to get started, or what?"

Without abandoning the last tendrils of their covert conversation, Granger slanted a glare at him and then flicked her hand, lighting fires under all four cauldrons and earning looks of varying surprise from all three males.

She rifled in her bag while addressing Belby. "Do you think you could start grinding the arnica flowers down, Belby?"

He nodded and went to the stores for the ingredient; meanwhile, Potter filled the cauldrons with water although having to use his wand to do so.

Draco looked on, his mood steadily spiraling downward to match the color of his robes. He thought morosely that she… that _they_ wouldn't even notice if he up and left but then the pathetic tone of that notion slapped him hard and he felt cold, tangible reality settle back in, much like a bracing splash of water.

 _Merlin, how the fuck does Weasley do it? It's exhausting to feel this sorry for yourself._

Draco suppressed a shudder before addressing the unofficial leader of their little group, not bothering to lessen the emphasis on the operative word. "Granger, what do you want _me_ to do?"

She glanced up, startled. The melting-chocolate brown of her eyes darted around his face, having the same effect as his breakfast- warming him from the inside out.

"Um, measure out the aconite. Please." She spared him another bemused glance before returning to her own task.

The four of them worked in surprisingly companionable silence, the peace broken only when Theo could be heard berating Weasley for clumsy hands or some such.

Draco smirked maliciously.

 _That's more like it. All this inter-house harmony shite was getting out of hand._

Draco raised impatient eyes to Granger as he completed his task. Checking her book she instructed, "Ok Dra… Malfoy, measure out one vial of aconite and dump into each cauldron once it comes to boil."

Potter piped in. "Actually, Hermione, I think we should-" Granger clenched her teeth so hard, Draco thought he heard her jaw crack.

She turned that piercing gaze on her housemate and the ever-repressed lust roared to life in his blood; she looked ready to Petrificus him with the sheer force of her gaze. Draco didn't know he could be so turned on. And in Advanced Potions, no less.

"We are following the recipe to the letter, Harry. These potions are for staff use," she gritted stonily.

Potter opened his mouth to argue, his black brows slanted with stubbornness, but he eventually relented on a belligerent puff of air and slammed his textbook shut in the process.

Draco looked at Belby, perplexed, who avoided his gaze and addressed Granger pleasantly, "What's next, then?"

She smiled gratefully at him then read off the instructions, delegating tasks as she went. For the remainder of the period, Belby and Granger chatted like old friends while Potter and himself stewed in distinct but equally unpleasant bubbles of resentment.

 _Did I miss a meeting where the entirety of the male upper years have unanimously decided to set sights on Granger?_

He licked his teeth as he watched the bushy-haired bookworm from hooded eyes. Her appearance hadn't changed a bit since the summer but then, it was during the holiday that Draco had the opportunity to really _see_ Granger, tanned skin and tenacity, frizzy curls and fiery passion.

All the students were clearing their stations with the end of the period; she did so with practiced movements that Draco studied like it was wandwork, until Theo sidled up.

"Let's go, Draco," he said, pushing an unruly lock off his face. "Care to walk with us, Granger? We're all heading for the same place."

Draco noted that Potter's body shifted instinctually toward Granger but she either didn't noticed or ignored his overbearing attitude. Granger darted her eyes to Theo, curiosity coloring her irises, before she re-focused on her bag.

"I'm fine, thanks," she murmured.

With that, the two Slytherins coasted out of the room and when a corridor and staircase separated them from her, Draco threw Theo up against a wall.

"What the fuck," Theo spat, small specks of saliva dotting Draco's enraged features.

"Exactly, Nott. What the fuck was that?" He twisted his dorm mate's robes in his enclosed fist, relishing the small release of a black mood that threatened to swallow him whole.

Theo drove into Draco's violent hold, clearly offended by his friend's insinuation. "I'm playing nice. I may need her smarts to get me through Arithmancy."

Gray eyes bored into incensed, indigo blue. "You could get caught."

Theo reared back, squinting his confusion. Draco's hold lessened on his friend but the two remained frozen in the rarely-traveled corridor, likely now late for their next class.

"Caught doing what?" Theo asked, drawing out the question. His gaze sharpened with suspicion. Draco shoved and then released him as he felt the prickles of paranoia play on the back of his neck.

"Don't play stupid, Theo. It doesn't suit you." Draco's eyes darted from one end of the hall to the other before finding purchase on Theo's tie, the knot in disarray from Draco's brute exertion.

"Drake, I wouldn't go so far as to say I like the bossy swot but I can appreciate her strengths. And then utilize them." Theo started walking away then, waiting until he reached the stairwell before calling back. "You should shed the jealousy. It doesn't suit you," cackling as he fled up the flight of stairs, Draco right behind him as he hurled a string of obscenities at his irredeemable friend.

Arithmancy had, indeed, started although Professor Vector must have slipped out as all her students were working quietly on the posted problem with no oversight.

Draco enjoyed the view he had from the front table so much that he and Theo had made it their permanent seats, much to the perceived annoyance of Granger. They took their seats now, breaths heaving from their sprint, as Theo unrolled some parchment to scribble down the beginnings of the problem.

Draco, a little slower coming down from the adrenaline, chanced a glance at Granger who was glaring at him.

"People are trying to work," she hissed. Then she whipped her head back around to Patil, the tangle of curls following much in the way Snape's robes billow behind him.

A reluctant chuckle built in Draco's chest; Granger's ire was pleasant in its predictability and a welcome change to the month of antipathy he received from her. The bubble of amusement carried him through the rest of the class, so buoyant in his stomach that it even motivated Draco to tackle the problem with only the slightest assistance from Granger after Theo apologized to her and melted that stubborn reserve.

Not for the first time, Draco resented his role as Malfoy heir and Slytherin prince, especially when Granger offered Theo a soft smile of farewell as she exited the classroom.

Theo flashed a cheekier one at Draco before following close on her heels.

It seemed only befitting that he stewed for the remainder of the day, his face drawn so severely into an irritated frown that in reluctant hindsight, he probably didn't differ much from Snape's usual demeanor. And that determination just fucked him up more.

Even with the perpetual shitty mood, Draco refused to sway in his conviction to not approach Granger, no matter that she did nothing to dissuade the various dogs nipping at her heels and continued to act as if nothing happened between her and Draco.

She hadn't even written about it in her bloody journal.

Draco slammed down his quill, breaking the nub which spilt ink across his already-shite Transfiguration essay. He grabbed his wand and siphoned off the ink, taking deep even breaths to steady his agitated mind.

"Problem, mate?" Blaise entered their room and dropped his things on his desk. Draco bit his tongue at the curse that rose up his throat.

 _Yes, there's a fucking problem. There's a million of them._

"Pansy was asking for you in the common room. Squawking on about some Hogsmeade trip in a couple weeks."

Draco groaned. _Make that a million and one._

"And why would she believe I give a shit?" Draco asked, impatience leaking into his tone.

Blaise was now organizing his schoolwork meticulously.

"I believe she gives a shit." A moment's pause before he pressed forward. "I also believe you gave the impression to her that you did."

Draco's eyes fell closed as the disgust burned a hole in his stomach. For much of his teenage years he had found Pansy attractive because she was so much like him; there was nothing to leave him surprised. In his present state of unfulfilled lust, her familiarity should prove soothing but now, he craved different. Now he craved what's wrong.

"Maybe I did," Draco admitted, opening his eyes to find himself fiddling with the cover of the journal which also held the scalding letter from his father.

Blaise shifted behind him, his voice coming from further away. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

 _I'm hungry for Granger._

He shoved the book away from his traitorous fingers as he shot out of the chair. Without another word to Blaise, he strode from the room, ignored Pansy loitering at the end of the corridor, and exited the common room intent on the Great Hall to see if that Gryffindor ass would add another mark to the ever-growing list of punches that Draco was going to rain upon his head.

The Great Hall teemed from the pockets of students littered around the four room-length tables, their tops cluttered with parchment and school bags and his favorite of all dishes, cottage pie.

Draco felt something akin to respite lick at the edges of his strained consciousness before he barked at Crabbe to move over so he could settle in next to Theo.

He piled the dinner, still steaming, high onto his plate before pouring some water and digging in. The beef in its gravy hit Draco's tongue and for a moment, he could block out everything that was causing him grief. Chatter floated around him, insubstantial as clouds; he just ignored it and tucked into his meal like it was some sort of mainstay.

But then he looked up.

Pansy sat across from him, eyeing him rather the same way he had the cottage pie, with Blaise seated next to her. She opened her mouth, presumably to ruin his appetite with some Hogsmeade babble, when Slughorn sidled up.

"Blaise, m'boy! Shall I see you this Saturday at the dinner? All the usual have confirmed- Belby, McLaggen, Granger...still haven't been able to pin down Harry though- "

Blaise cut him off smoothly, his face as impenetrable as onyx.

"Sure, Professor. Saturday."

Slughorn just beamed his delight and moved down the table but the damage was done. Draco's appetite was ruined.

 _Is it so much to ask to go one day without Granger fucking polluting it?_

Momentarily diverted, Pansy honed in on Blaise. "Why do you even bother going? His definition of "chosen" is practically synonymous with filth." Her eyes slid to Draco, a small grin from her perceived victory turning up her painted lips. Draco blinked once, slowly, before looking to his reticent friend.

"I find it educational."

"Getting schooled by Granger?" Pansy derided.

Draco couldn't stop the words from tumbling past his teeth.

"Pansy, shut it."

All at once, the nearby 6th years looked at their unofficial leader with more unfiltered emotion than is shown all year by Slytherin House combined. Pansy and Crabbe were mirror images, their mouths hanging open with shock while Blaise sat rigid with his dark eyes widened by cautious expectation.

Theo, bless his soul, continued eating and reviewing his essay but Draco did feel his insistent nudge under the table. After a slow, discreet exhale to gather his shattered self-control, Draco cocked his head sideways and allowed the well-practiced disdain to slide in place.

"I'd like to go one meal without the swotty Gryffindors sullying it. It's bad enough we have classes with them."

Crabbe chuckled, clearly relieved by status quo being restored. Pansy jut out her lower lip in what some would consider a pretty pout.

Draco just found it childish.

"So why don't you spend some time with just Slytherins? Hogsmeade is coming up soon. We can go together."

Draco connected eyes with Pansy then flickered over her shoulder; Granger's nose was stuck in a book while the dimwit duo talked right over her head. She looked invisible to them.

 _Why couldn't she be invisible to me?_

Blaise cleared his throat. Reluctantly, Draco dragged his eyes back to Pansy and answered noncommittally, "Sure, Pans. We'll do that. Excuse me, I've got to go finish that essay for McGonagall."

Draco stood, looked a bit resignedly at his unfinished dinner, then exited the Hall quickly as if his blunder would solidify and make known its presence.

Avoiding Granger had gone on too long. Luckily for him, he knew exactly where to find her in 3 days' time.

oOo

"Granger, let me walk you back to the common room."

"I'm fine, thank you."

Cormac trailed slightly behind anyway, the better to ogle her swaying figure, his long and loping as he nattered on about Slughorn's latest dinner.

Draco watched it all from the shadows, feeling the edges of his vision turn red from rage.

 _How can she possibly be so thick-headed?_

He tarried in the shadows. The addition of McLaggen's presence complicated his need to confront Granger, especially if she didn't cooperate and knowing what he did, she usually was anything but cooperative.

 _Except when kissing. She turned pleasantly willing then._

He swallowed back the flutters of lust that always appeared when he remembered their kiss which happened more than he cared to admit. He was half tempted to physically engage with Pansy if only to redirect the nagging feeling but…

Gray eyes narrowed in the dim fire light of the corridor and before Draco could think it through, he descended on the two Gryffindors that had grown indecently close as he reminisced.

"Granger," Draco said brusquely, the gravel in his voice sounding harsh, thank Salazar, instead of aroused. He nudged a shoulder into McLaggen as he walked between them, separating the two but also cutting into Granger's line of vision. Those brown eyes, narrowed, burned with flames of amber as she awaited an explanation.

"Professor Snape sent me to find you. Something about some recently received work… McLaggen, you can shove off now." Draco sneered, for once relishing the mix of jealousy and loathing as it tumbled through his veins.

She turned to Cormac, the emotion in her eyes softening only to a lukewarm impatience. "Go ahead," then she nodded in the direction of Gryffindor tower. Without another look at Draco, Granger slid past him and back down the ink-black corridor.

Draco followed. He lost sight of her form as it dashed around the corner. He picked up the pace, determined not to lose her before they exchanged words, and was startled into stopping by her rim-rod posture right past the turn.

Granger had her hands planted firmly on her hips with them slightly cocked to his left. Carefully restrained fury carved hollows into her blotchy cheeks with her brows pulled into unforgiving creases over her eyes. All at once, on an exhale, she relaxed her face and the scratchy pinpricks of self-preservation instantly dotted his skin.

 _Pretend-placid Granger? Even I know this won't be good._

"So what's this really about, something related to your task maybe?" she asked, her eyes pointed and cool as she studied his face.

Draco blanched at the mention of the task but recovered quickly by forcing the jealousy from earlier to heat his face. "Are you fucking stupid? I warned you about being alone with cads."

"Yet here I am."

Gray eyes narrowed at her in warning. She continued, unfazed. "Do you always answer a question with a question?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "If the question asked is moronic."

Silence rushed in like a bracing, winter wind. He felt like they were pulling on opposite ends of the same cord, every muscle constricted from the strain of gaining the extra inch. Unpredictably and all of a sudden, Granger forfeited by backing up toward an empty classroom.

"Then let's skip right past the questions, shall we?" She ducked into the shadows, leaving Draco with the infuriating echo of her brows raised in challenge.

Without hesitation, even as his mind roared with protest, he slipped past the cracked door. The room was still enshrouded in the black blanket of night and it was impossible to discern anything in the blinding static; yet, Draco resisted the urge to cast a 'Lumos' if only to display no weakness to Granger.

 _Malfoys maintain control._

"Granger, this is ridiculous. All I was trying to accomplish was saving you from your idiocy."

Granger's footsteps fell soft and unhurried on the floor. He turned his head slightly to the left as he attempted to track her location.

"Since you're so fond of the game," Granger started, completely ignoring his statement, "I have a dare for you."

Draco's heartbeat crowded out any other noise in the room. The daring edge to Granger's voice was disconcerting and intoxicating all at once, like the darkness had seeped into her bloodstream and emboldened her. "I dare you to trust me, Draco. Isn't that what you said to me all those months ago?"

He stepped forward, almost drunkenly, like the emotions doing cartwheels in his stomach were from too much alcohol instead of the recklessness of Granger's speech. He inhaled to clear his mind and quell his stomach before challenging, "Clearly I can't trust you to save yourself. Was that some sort of test with- " He cut off sharply as the air near him swirled from movement. Granger's scent drifted into his nostrils, further entrenching him into this exhilarating trepidation.

"You misunderstand. I want you to trust me with all those secrets you have bottled up. Tell me about the task."

His vulnerability masked by the dark, Draco flailed in an attempt to make contact with Granger's elusive form. Her calm and collected taunts were leaving him unhinged and wading in a sea of all his troubles.

Troubles that weren't hers to carry. Troubles that weren't hers to know.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, the volume of his voice heightened by frustration.

He turned to open the classroom door for more light but then it slammed shut, crowding out the only slice of pathetic illumination.

"Wrong answer, Draco."

Tremors skated down below his belly. "Why all of a sudden with the first-name basis?"

She chuckled somewhere to his left, close enough that the rumble of amusement rippled down his spine to only add to the sensations tightening his groin.

"You're doing it again. Question after a question. Tell me about the task."

His frustration broke through his skin as sweat stretched across his forehead and the back of his neck. Draco stalked the room suddenly, trying to hone in on her breathing that had gone conspicuously silent. He growled. "Why, so you can bring the information back to Potter?"

The sudden thought- no matter its implausibility- sent his anger through the roof.

 _Fuck this._

He reached for his wand but the sudden sweetness of citrus and vanilla enveloped his space, freezing him.

Her voice rung less sweet. "And now we're back to the trust thing."

Fingertips ghosted up his tautened left forearm. "No wand. The darkness makes it easier, don't you think?" She gripped him at the elbow but when he swung out to entrap her, she disappeared yet again.

"Granger!" he yelled, his tolerance way past its breaking point.

She sighed. "I'm the only one who knows so why not you utilize me?"

"Since when would you help a Death Eater?"

Draco stumbled from the unexpected force of a petite, warm palm on his chest. His back hit a nearby wall. His breath tumbled out on a surprise grunt. After three very long weeks, Granger's taste once again saturated his tongue as her heady essence closed in around him, their labored breaths the only thing bringing their bodies into contact.

"I'm not helping a Death Eater. I'm helping you."

"Same difference."

Granger sighed again, the air soured by her growing disappointment. "Tell me about the task," she repeated.

The weight of everything unspoken buckled his knees. Draco's forehead kissed hers with reluctant acquiescence and his sweat-slick skin had him gliding down her concealed face until her lips were tucked into his hairline.

"I can't tell you."

Dry, parted lips stirred his sweaty locks as he felt them lift in a surprising, small smile.

"Better than won't." Then Granger disappeared again and left him scrambling for purchase, the classroom door being opened and then shut as Draco was doused by dark solitude and harsher reality.

 _I can't tell her. It would only get us both killed._ The thoughts beat in his head like a litany but came no closer to truly convincing him of the fact.

Draco fumbled his way to the door and pulled it open, only to scowl when the corridor was completely abandoned. He stalked the route to Gryffindor tower that the two of them took last time but found it void of Granger. If it weren't for the tingling along his hairline, he would wager that he imagined it all and was starting to lose his mind.

" _Since when would you help a Death Eater?"_

" _I'm not helping a Death Eater. I'm helping you."_

"Fuck," Draco cursed. "Fuck you, Granger."

Then he slammed his fist into the wall, blood weeping over his knuckles. He feared that was becoming his goal.


	18. Trouble in Hogsmeade

**A/N: Obvious credit to Rowling for the material used in this entire fanfic as well as this chapter in particular. I also would like to tip my hat to Steve Kloves and those involved in creating the powerful movie scene that inspired my vision of this chapter. I felt by meshing them, I was able to do some justice to both book and film.**

* * *

 **Trouble in Hogsmeade**

* * *

" _Sometimes the wrong choices bring us to the right places." -Unknown_

Draco could hear the heavy snoring of Crabbe, Goyle's grunts as he rolled over in bed, and Theo's even breaths.

"Blaise."

The dark swallowed the word into its infinite depths and after an extended silence, Draco wondered if he had actually spoken at all and perhaps it would be best if he abandoned the whole, ludicrous idea.

"Yeah?"

He shuddered from the relief of his friend's unexpected response. Draco swallowed back the misgiving that was trying to clog up his throat because he knew he had no other choice. His father made that abundantly clear in the letter he received weeks ago.

" _Use the resources available at the school and for Merlin's sake, do put that_

 _brain to use. I'm sure if you try hard, you'll come up with a suitable solution."_

 _Thank Salazar for the cover of night._

"I need your help," Draco murmured.

Another pause, then, "Okay."

oOo

Hermione woke up on the Saturday of the Hogsmeade trip with an unexplained fear fluttering in her ribcage. Whatever she dreamed had long scattered into the slanted morning light but the reaction remained. She pressed her hands into her chest as if it could cease the fluttering but the fear only moved to settle in her stomach, heavy and immovable as stone.

She dressed for the day, collecting her wool coat from the wardrobe as the teasing tendrils of winter could be felt in the air, before she proceeded down to the common room.

Neither Harry nor Ron was up yet, naturally, so Hermione settled onto the couch by the fireplace, flames already dancing in the grate.

The start of their 6th school year had been quiet enough, save for the bizarre attention she'd been receiving from the male population. McLaggen, she reflected, made sense; after all, he was rumored to have worked his way through all the available 7th years with his rapier charm. It only stood to reason that he'd start in on the next batch of females.

 _But of all the available females, why me?_

Hermione shook her head, letting loose some stubborn curls from her pony, knowing McLaggen was not worth her time. Now Nott, on the other hand, whipped up disquieting whorls of idle contemplation; despite being the quiet, studious Slytherin of the bunch, he was still a Slytherin. A Slytherin who all of a sudden slithered up with a confusing charm all his own.

Hermione unconsciously tightened her hands, the vinewood wand digging into her palm and alighting her magic. She exhaled to relax. For the time being, she planned to withhold judgment on the attractive brunet and the mysterious motivations driving his interactions.

That left Draco. From her hazy, unfocused stare, Hermione could discern the elegant licks of fire over wood, heat scorching the bark until it resembled the ashy echo of its former self.

Since the rivals' fateful meeting this summer, Hermione felt like the heat of their interaction had eaten away at Malfoy's exterior and gave her this glimpse of the Draco she now knew, the Draco she felt compelled to chase until he was completely bare to her.

Her face turned scarlet as she thought back on the kiss. The energy that sparked between them threw light in places of Hermione that she didn't realize were dormant.

That terrified her.

So she had backed off after that kiss, hoping the distance would make space in her mind as well, for the sake of contemplation. Except Draco did the exact opposite as she expected; he invaded the space every time he had the chance, manufacturing ones along the way.

It seemed once they had mingled, everything changed.

"Hermione, you should take off your coat. You're burning up."

She jumped and turned to find Harry and Ron both staring at her. Harry tilted his head in faint concern as Ron just tapped his thigh impatiently. "Can we get to breakfast?" he asked, before turning toward the portrait hole. Hermione, embarrassed to have been caught in a thought spiral about Draco, came even with Harry and muttered "I'm fine" before carrying on through the exit.

The Great Hall was crowded for a Saturday morning until Hermione remembered it was the first Hogsmeade visit of the year. Harry paused on their way up the table to speak briefly with Katie Bell; Ron pressed on, refusing to be delayed any further from eating. Hermione followed, a small smile at Ron's quirks lifting her face.

"The food isn't going anywhere, Ronald," she remarked as she reached for her habitual cup of coffee.

"The hell it isn't; it's going right into my stomach!" Then Ron proceeded to pile his plate high with pancakes and sausages, Hermione laughing openly at his retort. Harry sat next to her, looking bemusedly at the two of them.

Once Harry was seated, Ron launched into what he believed to be a hilarious retelling of the early morning going-ons in 6th year Gryffindor dormitories.

"Dead asleep! And out of nowhere, levitating upside down- " Ron gasped, clutching his side from the stitches caused by his uproarious laughter at his best friend's antics.

Hermione's glare turned icier with every idiotic word spewed from her friend's mouth. She turned the full force of her look on Harry beside her who was attempting to quell the humor crinkling his face. He didn't seem at all affected by Hermione's disapproval.

She asked her question stonily although she already suspected the answer. "And where did this new spell come from? The Prince, per chance?"

Ron and Harry's amusement leaked out of them at the deliberate, cool tone from her. They looked at one another before Harry confirmed Hermione's suspicions. He threw a defensive look, his response following, sharp like a knife. "Yeah. So, what?"

Hermione gaped at her friend, nearly speechless at his brash, bumbling behavior.

Only nearly, though.

"Did it ever occur to you," she said, indignant condescension pitching her voice dangerously, "that a handwritten spell in a book is not Ministry approved?"

The boys looked at her blankly. Ire flooded in at their ignorance, heating Hermione's cheeks. She continued her lecture. "And therefore is not safe to be testing on random people, let alone friends?!"

It was Harry's turn to blush. The color infusing through his cheeks and up into his hair only caused reason for further suspicion to run rampant in Hermione's mind. Gasping she exclaimed, "Harry! Have there been other spells?"

The boy in question avoided the question, gulping down a half glass of pumpkin juice before dismissing Hermione's claims.

"It's not a big deal, Hermione. It's all been just funny." He looked to Ron who started grinning supportively.

"Lay off, 'Mione." Ron said around bites of sausage. "You're just jealous the Potions book has been so helpful to Harry."

Hermione crossed her arms, beyond flustered. Whatever patience she had left for her friends and their short-sighted actions disappeared with the insensitive comment from Ron.

 _It's been more than helpful. It's been_ _cheating_ _… And I'm not jealous._

Avoiding Ron's baiting, she continued to press Harry. "It's not _just_ funny. Think about where you've seen that levitation spell before… World Cup ring any bells?"

Harry paled at the reminder but remained stubborn in his resolve.

"That was different! They were abusing it."

Hermione released a frustrated breath and turned her attention back on her breakfast before she lost her appetite entirely. It was becoming clear that no matter what logic she presented, Harry wouldn't budge from his position that the spells were ultimately harmless.

However, she was never one to give up the last word.

"All I'm saying is the spell doesn't seem very friendly and knowing it's an original Prince spell, I wouldn't go trusting everything in that book."

Hermione took a large bite of her food and chewed deliberately, hoping the conversation was closed.

Part of her wanted to tell the boys to sod off, passing up Hogsmeade and returning to the dormitories alone so that she could fume in peace. That part of her has been far too influenced by Draco, as it were.

The part of her controlling her methodical chewing knew it would be best to shelve the argument. There was plenty of time later to knock sense in Harry's head.

Or just incendio the book.

 _Yes. Far too influenced by Draco by half._

Thankfully, Ron had a similar idea to Hermione in that the argument was well over as he turned the conversation to neutral territory by spouting off a question on the state of isolated Hogsmeade.

For the remaining time, they sat and ate their food, conversing sporadically about which shops to visit first and whether the little Scottish village was insulated from the dark atmosphere that had pervaded Wizarding London.

"Only one way to find out," Ron said around a mouthful of pancakes, "are you two ready?"

The three Gryffindors headed for the courtyard. Filch was waiting, twisted smile on his pallid face as he scanned students leaving the grounds. Ron groaned loudly as he paused for the searching. "Why does it matter if people are sneaking dark objects out?"

Hermione shoved him lightly and stepped up to be scanned. _It does seem unusual protocol._ The train of thought didn't stick, however, as the trio huddled together and pushed through the wind toward the little wizarding village. It only took a 4-minute stroll down the main street to realize the mistake it was to venture out in such miserable weather; Zonko's Joke Shop was boarded up, much to Harry and Ron's vocal dismay.

Ron spied Honeydukes alit, though, so they scurried to the candy store, Hermione sighing audibly when the warm inside air enveloped her body. Ron muttered under his breath, relief heavy in his voice, "Let's never leave."

Harry moved forward into the shop. Ron trailed Hermione as she moseyed past the various items, delighted to see extra-large sugar quills in stock, and yet unnerved by her friend's proximity.

She had terrible judgment when it came to boys- _just look at Malfoy_ \- but even thick headed, she could venture a guess at Ron's purpose for lingering close. The scent of his hair curled into her nostrils and a refusal built in her throat, its jagged edges cutting her from the inside.

Just then, Harry rejoined them. Ron backed away, obvious in his reluctance, but Hermione only relaxed as the tension dissolved in her throat.

"Let's head to the Three Broomsticks. I fancy a butterbeer," Harry said. Hermione cashed out, waving off Ron's insistence to pay and pointedly ignoring Harry's curious, lifted eyebrows leveled at her profile. The blustery October wind whipped up their scarves and made their couple minute walk to the pub feel like a mile-long hike. The boys skirted past the bar once they entered the establishment in search of a table as Hermione went to order drinks. As it was one of the few businesses open, the space was crowded with people all seeking warmth from the frigid weather and Hermione accidentally bumped a few shoulders.

"Oh, sorry!" she exclaimed, staggering into a stranger's back as she tripped over someone's foot. Her eyes widened a fraction when the stranger turned around and turned out to not be a stranger at all. Blaise Zabini tilted his jet-black face down at her. His narrowed, dark eyes searched her face for a moment then, as if he reached some weighty decision, moved to make way for her.

"No harm, no foul Granger," he murmured almost speculatively before heading for an empty stretch of wall at the back of the pub.

 _These Slytherins must be imbibing some politeness potion or something._

Hermione mentally shook off the strange encounter and placed her order, turning away from the massive rough-hewn bar counter. She found the boys at a table near the blazing fireplace with an additional guest leaning heavily on the back of a vacant seat. She squeezed into a seat next to Harry and smiled slightly, "Hello Professor."

Slughorn beamed back before carrying on with his never-ending pursual of Harry.

"I won't take no for an answer, Harry. There must be a free evening in your near future; how about Monday?"

Harry grimaced apologetically. "I have detention, sir." Slughorn frowned slightly before slapping the back of the chair he stood by with mock frustration.

"Ever the trouble maker? Just like your father! Ah, well, m'boy- I will get you there soon enough! Enjoy the rest of your morning, Miss Granger, Wallaby."

The rather red-in-the-face, rotund man sauntered away, having successfully dampened the mood of the table. The butterbeers arrived and after a few sips, Hermione broke the silence.

"The Professor corners me every dinner and asks for your schedule, Harry. Perhaps he would back off if you would show at one."

Harry slanted a look of warning while Ron took to brooding in his mug; Hermione, however, was never one to be quelled.

"They're not that bad, you know. Sometimes they could even be fun," she pressed, her mind recalling the "fun" that had been found after the dinners as well…

 _Malfoy was made for dark hallways…_

Ron's voice cut in, the insult slicing her. "Harry doesn't want to be part of the stupid Slug Club, 'Mione. Drop it."

She bristled with the embarrassed hurt that peppered her skin. Slowly, she rubbed her arms, canting her head down towards the tables. Both of her friends remained quiet now that their fragile bubble of contentment burst, leaving them all put-out. The toffee-sweet froth atop Hermione's butterbeer dissipated under her preoccupied stare; suddenly, the strange urge to go back and just empty herself into her journal swelled like a wave inside her.

"I'm about ready to head back." The comment hung like fruit, ripe for the picking. Slowly, the three disgruntled Gryffindors pushed back from the table and headed for the door.

The morning turned out to be a total waste of time as Hermione stewed over all the revising she could be doing for classes from the comfort of her preferred chair in Gryffindor tower, instead of getting her best friends angry in frigid temperatures.

Fire smoldering, tea and biscuits delivered by Dobby with fresh parchment… she was so deep into her planned fantasy for the afternoon hours that she ran into the boys' backs, not realizing they stopped.

All of a sudden, she knew why.

Katie Bell and her friend were stopped on the path, arguing over something in Katie's hand. The typically-tame brunette wrenched the package away from her friend, tearing the paper wrapping in the process. Like a scene from a muggle horror movie, Katie shot up into the air, eerily suspended, with her limbs straight and mouth stretched into a gruesome "oh" although no sound fell from her lips.

Even still, Hermione could imagine the pain coursing through Katie's body before she dropped like a rag doll from the sky, back to the unforgiving ground.

The trio advanced, horrified by the twitching that still wracked Katie's body, before a voice called them back to reason.

"Stand back!" The warning burr rolled over them. Hermione turned and was relieved to see Hagrid. "She's been cursed. I need to get her to the hospital wing."

Katie's friend cried noisily into her scarf while Harry moved away from Ron and Hermione, now distracted by the mysterious package.

"Don't touch that, other than for the wrappings!" Hagrid warned, before turning and rushing up to the castle.

Hermione inched closer to her rash, tunnel-vision friend and quietly suggested, "Why don't we levitate it back up for Professor Dumbledore to examine?"

He nodded, his gaze still intense on the necklace that was now visible under the wrappings, the wind rushing like a scream over the scene.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Hermione whispered and, levitating the jewelry and its packaging, they moved slowly up the path; looking back briefly, she was bemused at Ron's haphazard attempts at consoling Katie's friend, who had introduced herself as Leanne.

Harry brooded. Of course.

Leanne scurried directly to the hospital wing upon entering the castle while the other three traversed the mercifully empty hallways to McGonagall's office, instructions barked by Filch.

She stood like a statue behind her desk, a rigid representation of harried exasperation.

"Why," she started a touch desperately, "is it, when anything is wrong, that it's always you three?"

They approached, Hermione lowering the necklace onto a cleared space of the professor's desk. Ron shrugged.

"Luck, you think?" he remarked leisurely. McGonagall was less than amused, especially once Harry broke his broody silence and relayed the events that occurred in Hogsmeade. Snape entered near the end of the retelling and moved to examine the necklace, his coal-colored eyes calculating. Hermione shivered.

When Harry finished, he paused but a moment before plunging back in. Addressing only McGonagall, he stated, "Professor, Malfoy was the one to give Katie that necklace."

Both professors turned to stare at her reckless, reckless friend; one aghast by his accusation while the other remained predictably impassive. Hermione hoped she would sink right into the floor.

"That is a grave accusation, Mr. Potter," McGonagall choked out.

"Indeed," Snape drawled. "Your proof?"

Harry plowed on, undeterred by something as insignificant as facts or deductive reasoning. _That hole is looking more and more appealing._ Hermione bowed her head to hide the kaleidoscopic sifting on her face from shame to uneasiness.

"I have a feeling- "

"Oh. A _feeling_ ," Snape emphasized the word meanly, "And I suppose, as the Chosen One, these feelings are as hard and fast as facts?"

Harry bristled. McGonagall stepped in. _Thank Merlin._

"Mr. Potter, you need to understand that Mr. Malfoy wasn't even in Hogsmeade today."

Hermione's head shot up at that revelation, matching the gaping expressions her friends also had.

"How do you know?" Harry asked.

Professor McGonagall skewered him with a glare right over the tops of her spectacles.

"Not that it's any of your business," she said crisply, her nose tilted up in the air, "but Mr. Malfoy was serving detention with me due to his academics."

The tension deflated like a balloon. All at once, Hermione's earlier fantasy of food and fire tugged ever more strongly at her center. A cup of tea would also do well in reestablishing her equilibrium.

"You may go back to your dormitory," Snape said, his attention refocused on the necklace. Although Harry looked ready to continue his inquisition, a firm hand on his shoulder by Ron had Harry crumpling to compliance. They left, careful to wait until they were ensconced in the common room that was fortunately empty.

"I don't care what McGonagall says. I know Malfoy did it," Harry gritted.

Ron glanced at her, seemingly over their tiff from before. He gestured for her to jump in with a rebuttal.

She never felt so reluctant to do something in her life.

"Now, Harry- "

Harry rambled on through his nonsensical reasoning, deaf to Hermione's weak counters. "He must have someone helping him. Another Death Eater or Voldemort sympathizer…"

"That name!" Ron groaned.

Hermione jumped in, afraid of being sucked into his ridiculous thought spiral. "Harry, listen to me. Even if Malfoy could hatch such a plan, he'd need that necklace in the school in the first place and then somehow get it back out past Filch."

Harry stared at her and mulled.

"He's been disappearing off the map. Maybe he's going somewhere that can transport the necklace on or off castle grounds."

Hermione blanched but Harry missed it as he turned to Ron, who joined the conversation.

"Stupid plan, though. Using another student to get it in the castle where it could be easily intercepted by anyone." Harry just scrunched his face together in impatience, raking a hand through his unruly black mane.

"Well, since when has Malfoy ever been smart?"

Draco felt stupid. So. Fucking. Stupid. The rumor of Katie Bell spread fast through the castle, infecting the students- even the Slytherins- with a sick combination of horror and interest, to the effect that only hours later the story was already being twisted to include the Dark Lord himself.

All Draco felt was stupid, a stupidity that wrenched his stomach like wet laundry, squeezing every drop of self-disgust directly into his veins.

 _I should have known there was no way this plan had any chance of succeeding._

Professor McGonagall had dismissed him from detention when she received word from the indiscreet, bumbling half-giant as he sprinted past her office on the way to the wing; so Draco headed directly back to the dungeons to anxiously await Blaise, hoping to whatever higher power he avoided implication.

Crabbe and Goyle vacated the dormitory once he stalked in, perceptive enough to pick up on Draco's dark mood. Each minute ticked past, weighing down his shoulders until his forehead met the desk and frantic, little pants rushed across his lips. His arms were stretched over his head, rock hard from the suspense, while his hands rolled his wand back and forth, back and forth, back-

Draco heard footsteps. Snapping his head up, he affected a relaxed pose in his desk chair and flipped open the closest book.

 _Granger's journal. Of course. The fucking irony would be comical if it weren't aimed at my fucking life._

Blaise appeared in the archway. His friend's mouth was pulled in a grim line but Draco only needed to make contact with those dark, usually emotionless eyes to see the whole story painted in appalling clarity.

An apology, two words he never spoke to anyone but his parents, sat on his tongue; poison that was best expelled but at the moment, he'd rather swallow it and die, just to avoid this whole predicament.

Blaise moved towards him and leaned against the edge of Draco's desk. Clearly, enough of the remorse leaked into Draco's eyes that the two didn't require any specific communication.

 _Thank Salazar for that._

"What happens now?" Blaise asked quietly.

Draco's brain filled with static as the potential answers to that question were too terrifying to contemplate. He thought of the report he would have to write home… and of his mother, whose condition was still infuriatingly a mystery.

Theo, the sly son of a bitch, strolled silently into the dorm at that very moment and caught their attention. "Did you hear? Some Gryffindor chit was cursed in-" he stopped as he studied first Blaise, and then Draco.

Theo threw his hands up in the air, scowling. "What the fuck. And I always thought Blaise was the third wheel."

"Bloody hell, Theo," Blaise growled, stalking over to grab a fistful of robes. "Not everything's a fucking joke."

He shook off Blaise serenely. "You two look like death. I was just trying to lighten the mood." Then he flopped onto his bed to stare at the ceiling.

"Death is what almost happened," Blaise said darkly.

"Death could still happen," Draco added enigmatically. Both Slytherins turned questioning and a-little-more-than-uneasy gazes on him.

Restless now, and determined to put off the report home- at least for the moment- he shot from the chair and nearly sprinted to the exit, pointedly ignoring his friends' requests for clarification.

One way or another, he would fix that piece-of-shit Vanishing Cabinet and complete his task before it was the death of him. Or his mother.


	19. The Prize

**The Prize**

* * *

" _An honest answer can get you into a lot of trouble." -Anonymous_

The answer struck Hermione like a punch to the gut; holding her stomach like she could contain the reaction internally, Hermione discreetly extricated herself from the boys' conversation and left the common room.

All the staircases were cooperating with Hermione's sprint to the 7th floor, a lucky streak that was only magnified by the empty hallways as dinner time approached. She came to a halt in front of the unadorned expanse of wall and closed her eyes.

 _I want to find Draco Malfoy._ She slowly paced to her left. _I want to find Draco Malfoy._ After an abrupt turn, she moved in the other direction, anticipation sparking in her veins. _I want to find Draco Malfoy._

The doors to the Room of Requirement erected on the wall like iron-gray scars, curving to form intricate scrollwork. Hermione paused with her hand on the knob, imposing some caution into her over-eager fingers.

She then eased her way past the hardly-cracked door, the dim lighting of the cavernous room being swallowed up by her curious, wide eyes. The space looked to go on forever although it was difficult to see past the various towers of junk. Hermione maneuvered through the narrow pathways, confused to glimpse everything from furniture and textbooks, to broken quills and clothes that dated a century old.

She muttered, "Hominum revelio" and was relieved that the spell confirmed another human occupied the space; if she asked correctly, that human should be Draco.

 _But where in Merlin's name is he?_

Too soon, Hermione became disoriented by the multitude of twists and turns and her curiosity tumbled into a fierce misgiving that she would never find the way out.

"Draco!" she yelled, the fear climbing its way up her throat. Her feet stumbled over a broomstick as she thrust herself forward, illogically believing that around one more turn he would be hiding. As she fell, Hermione's hands hit not the dirty cluttered floor, but the reflective patina of a black dragon-hide shoe and a firm, trouser-clad leg, radiating unbelievably addictive warmth.

Two hands pulled her to standing, the fear in her throat curling like dying leaves when her eyes clashed with Draco's thundercloud gray ones.

"Draco!" she repeated, his name cushioned by the relief in her tone. His grip tightened a moment on her arms before he released her and stepped back.

"How did you find me?" he snarled. Hermione stepped back, thrown off by the vitriol in his voice.

"It's none of your concern," she murmured. Steadiness seeped back into her posture; now that she wasn't alone in this cavernous rendition of the Room of Requirement, Hermione felt balance returning on the cusp of Draco's ire. He stood there, arms crossed with his wand gripped fiercely, and she drank up the sight, scowl and all.

"It is my concern knowing what sods you call friends."

Hermione glared but refused to be diverted. "Like I said, it's no concern." Tentatively, she stepped forward, extending her arm. Draco flinched away but she persevered. Try as she might, Hermione knew that concern creased her face.

"What are you running from?"

He turned his back to her and started walking away. "Do me a favor, Granger, and save it." She followed on his heels, noting the rigidity of his shoulders and how the tension sculpted his neck into alluring cords of muscle. They soon reached an area that was cleared, maybe a 6 foot radius between one pile of furniture and a dark, derelict cabinet twice the size of Draco. He ripped a chair from a nearby pile, placing it about 2 meters away from one already upright in the space.

He deflated into it, recrossing his arms and brooding so hard into the floor she was surprised a hole didn't emerge.

Hermione avoided the chair for the time being and stood in front of him. "I think it would be better if- "

Draco released a long-suffering sigh. "I don't know if you can tell," he made eye contact, his gray gaze pointed, "but I don't want to talk about it."

As silence resettled between them, Hermione felt the weight of them- whatever _they_ were- crowd on her shoulders, its perceived potential almost buckling her knees. The mystery that was Malfoy had festered long enough in her mind and Hermione wanted answers, needed them in fact if she would be able to continue lying to her friends.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Draco, I'm calling in my day… of truth. Of unconditional truth."

His head snapped up, the sound of his neck cracking echoing through the otherwise-quiet room. Anger swelled his posture like a balloon, foreboding in its height, but it couldn't quite hide the disquiet twitch of his right eye.

He stood up, toe-to-toe with her, his breath on her face. "For fuck's sake, Granger! Can you be any less convenient?"

She stared back, unrelenting.

"I'll sweeten the pot. For every honest answer you give, you'll get a kiss in return."

The look he gave seared her; she felt the hot, possessive sweep mark her from forehead to belly and even lower, the warmth gathering there in anticipation. Draco grumbled incoherently under his breath, the eye contact severed as he raked his hands through already-mussed locks. Their pale color became richer in the dim lighting of the space and Hermione mentally struggled to define the color, not initially realizing that she missed his response.

"What?" she asked, somewhat stupidly.

His eyes remained downcast. "You haven't let me kiss you since that first time."

Hermione shrugged a bit bemusedly at his train of thought. "You haven't tried."

He toyed with his family ring, turning the engraved face so it pressed into his palm, invisible to present company. Blowing out a breath, he grunted, "It's a two way street, Granger."

She knelt to catch his eyes, entranced by the firm control he had over the emotion on his face. Hermione knew the opposite could be said about her, the emotions likely playing across her features as swiftly as a violin.

 _There's no point in hiding them. The day's about honesty._

With eyes locked, she admitted quietly, shyly, "I'm offering now."

Draco's eyes dilated. He remained quiet. Hermione summoned some of the Gryffindor courage and weaved her fingers through his, their palms drawn together like magnets. "Give a little to get a little, Draco."

He gripped her hand suddenly, the pressure vibrating up her arm.

"You're asking for more than a little." The Malfoy superiority dripped from his tone, causing Hermione to cringe. "I expect more than a kiss if you think I'm going to pour my soul out to you."

"What's more?"

Draco swallowed hard, the tension pulling every muscle in his body taut.

 _Everything. Anything I can get._

One noise of encouragement from Granger and he knew he would shatter. Draco released her hand roughly and collapsed back into his chair.

"Just ask your bloody questions."

After a moment of contemplation, Granger grabbed the extra chair and moved it so that when she sat, her trouser-clad knees were a hair's breadth away from his own; the heat of her body so close shot right through his layers of clothing and caressed his skin as effectively as her hand.

 _Maybe. We'll prove that theory soon enough._

She placed slightly trembling hands on knees and cleared her throat. "I think we should establish some expectations before moving forward."

"No!" Draco groaned. He brought his own hands up to pull roughly at the white-blond fringe. "Stop delaying the inevitable misery. Get on with it!"

Granger stared, stone-faced. "It's…" she checked the time with a flick of her wand, "8pm now. Obviously we won't be together a whole day…"

"Obviously," Draco muttered.

"So," Granger plowed on, her eyes hardening to russet granite, "I'd suggest we stay in here until about curfew. Then, since tomorrow is Sunday, we can meet up again around lunchtime?"

Draco blinked slowly at her, his patience having fled with his good sense. "You're wasting precious minutes for your day of truth."

 _To be totally honest, she's wasting minutes of bloody kissing._

As immovable as Granger's eyes were a moment ago, he noticed how they instantly wavered under his piercing gaze, her bottom lip disappearing between the snug pull of those gleaming, white teeth. Draco's entire body hardened against his will.

Granger glanced away, the churning of her brain visible from the frantic dance of her eyes around the room and so Draco waited, slouched in his chair, although his heart pounded in his chest like a hippogriff thundering across the grounds.

Softly, uncertainly, Granger asked, "Why did you want to know what I smelled in the Amortentia?"

A shuddering breath-length of silence, then just as softly he replied, "I wanted to know if you smelled me."

Brown eyes clashed with his gaze, her head tilted in contemplation. "And what would you smell like?"

Draco didn't even hesitate. "Green apples."

Granger's face rounded with surprise. "How- "

"I don't think so," as Draco lunged forward and molded his lips to hers. That first kiss was sweet relief and yet succeeded in only whetting his appetite. Her mouth was open from shock as he connected with her so he swooped in, their tongues tangling immediately.

Draco groaned. She moved against him tentatively, testing the full measure of him while he swirled around her tongue with confidence, with hunger.

His hands, having landed on her thighs, crept up to her waist and used it as an anchor as Draco deepened the kiss. Granger surrendered inhibition inch by delicious inch; first, with her hands shyly exploring the sensitive skin behind his ears. Then, with her tongue as she stroked into his mouth, warm and inviting.

On instinct, Draco pursed his lips and sucked. She moaned in response, the sound tickling his tonsils and traveling all the way down to his groin. He couldn't even bring himself to fight the impulse. He was hard and hot in his trousers and Draco knew, in the deep dark space of his mind, that if he continued in this vein he would be regretting it come the light of day.

Like last time. Madness scurried away when the sun shone down, leaving logic and the bitter taste of regret.

The kiss softened naturally under his lips from hungry passion to self-effacing uncertainty; then, he broke it and moved back to his chair. Granger sat heaving, a blushed mass of skin from hairline to neckline, looking altogether ridiculous with her hands still poised in the air where she was just recently feathering his hair.

He suppressed the tingling tentacles of that sensation before they wrapped themselves around his middle and prevented air from reaching his brain.

Which he very much needed if he hoped to survive this day of honesty.

"Wow," she said breathily, more to herself than Draco it seemed, "that's what was meant by more."

Draco snorted and muttered to himself. "You have no idea."

The rather kinetic pair sat in silence as they individually digested the meaning of that explosive kiss, Granger unhinging him every time she ran her tongue over her now-swollen lips.

 _It's just chemistry. It'll fizzle once it runs its course. Hopefully after tonight._ Draco tapped impatient fingers against his steel-hard thigh, mentally counting 5...30...100 seconds. Three minutes into counting and he didn't believe his own reasoning any more than at the start.

His fingers fell still as eyes, cool as gray winter skies, narrowed on Granger with a sudden thought.

"What sent you looking for me, Granger? You haven't willingly sought me out in ages." She sighed, staring down at ghostly white hands that were clenched in a fist, and the exhale of breath shuddered through her body like a tenacious gust of wind.

"We were there," she said, her voice so low that Draco strained closer to catch the words, "we saw Katie open the box and get cursed by the necklace." Granger looked up at him, the unasked question flickering in her eyes.

With measured movements, Draco sat back in his chair and raised an eyebrow in challenge; he refused to add fuel to her fiery curiosity, even though the self-imposed distance from her now that she witnessed such darkness settled like a knot at the base of his throat. He was surprised he could get any air in. Or get any words out.

"So?" he choked out, the single syllable puncturing the silence of the room. Granger looked back down at her tightly clasped hands, the nails digging into the fragile skin and likely leaving miniscule half-moon marks.

They weren't the type of marks that Draco hoped to leave behind tonight.

"So," she responded with more strength levying her voice, "Harry openly accused you of the act. McGonagall stated otherwise, said you were with her today for detention."

He absently nodded his confirmation once she stopped talking, too preoccupied with this new, alarming update. He didn't want to begin to fathom what happened if the wrong people heard Scar-head blabbering on about his suspicions… and of course, there was the nosy git himself.

 _Perhaps I need to remind him of my words at the start of the year. With his nose healed, it seems the warning has fled his mind._

Draco shelved the notion for later contemplation and redirected his attention back to Granger who was again, staring at him, those eyes alive with questions. Questions that he couldn't afford her to ask.

"Are we going to get back to the kissing?" he grinned openly, his top lip pulled back in a predatory gleam.

"You mean the questions?"

"Tsk, Granger. I gave you the honesty you wanted. I meant kissing."

A blush spread across her cheeks, the heat of it almost tangible across the small distance as Draco felt his own neck turn red with unexpected pleasure. Granger mock glared but said sternly, "Questions first."

After a slight pause she asked, "What happened to your mum?"

Draco remained stony, silent. Under his rigid and uncompromising gaze, Granger squirmed and pressed to clarify. "I saw her over the summer? I noticed that she was favoring the left side of her body, as if she were nursing an injury."

The twitch in Draco's right eye returned.

"What happened, Draco?"

He shot from his seat, raking his hands through hair that he now noticed was getting a touch too long. He spun away from her to glare at a nondescript, mountainous pile of junk.

"Don't think just because you use my first name, it softens the hit. Your questions are a fucking intrusion, no matter." Fisting his hands, he placed them in his pockets, resenting the return of playbacks that had been crowded out of his consciousness as of late, by fantasies of Granger. Six weeks since the torture and still the memories resurfaced with startling, crystal-clear detail. He strained to speak with no inflection, not bothering to turn around and witness the resulting horror his answer would bring to her face.

"My mother was punished for a mistake I made so I may be motivated not to commit such folly again."

 _Yet here I stand with the blasted witch. Bane of my existence for as long as I can remember and now potentially fatal for it too._

Draco cursed then started, surprised at the gentle hand that came to rest on his spine. He shook it off and turned to face her, snarling, "Don't pity me."

Undeterred, Granger stepped right into his space. She grabbed the sides of his face to angle him down, forcing contact with the unclouded intensity of her steady brown eyes, stuttering the breath in his throat.

"Of the multitude of feelings I'm having for you, pity is pretty far down the list." Granger then moved her hands to both of Draco's shoulders and pushed herself up so that those decadent lips poised right before his. She breathed, closed her eyes, then closed the distance.

Draco allowed the kiss to remain gentle for the moment, if only to revel in the delicate sweetness of her initiating the contact. His hands traveled up her back, fingering every ridge of her spine through the layers of clothing, splaying his hands wide across her shoulder blades. Granger opened her mouth, offering entrance. He took it, gladly.

As he tangled with her tongue, the strokes of hers more confident than before, Draco trailed his hands from her back, to her sides, to her front…

"What are you doing?" she asked, the question feather-light against his lips. He opened his eyes to find those brown orbs quivering with caution.

"More."

She gasped as Draco ran a single finger underneath her right breast but frustration at her layers of obtrusive clothing tumbled through his blood as loudly as lust. "Fuck," he muttered and then threw off all pretenses of being gentle; Draco kept eye contact as he cupped her breast firmly and growled his pleasure when Granger's eyes dilated.

He thumbed her nipple until it rose to greet his finger. She was giving off breathy little pants as her eyes went unfocused, the scorching weight of her breast fitting perfectly in his palm.

"Look at me," he quietly demanded as two fingers rolled the nipple in lazy circles. Granger's eyes snapped back to him, the irises liquid honey as she waded through the mounting passion.

"Draco?" she questioned. He almost buckled at the sound of his name on her desire-drunk lips.

 _Pushing the limits now. Time to wrap up._

He kissed her lips once, twice, and then took a step back so the cool air of the room could steady him. A faraway smile of satisfaction curved her lips before she sat back in her chair, leaving Draco to his pounding heart and reality-altering epiphany.

 _No one's got to know that I'm in lust with Hermoine-fucking-Granger. It's one day and then it's done._

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the energy stirred up from their physical exploration still beating like a heart between them. Draco struggled to set aside this newfound attraction to Granger and instead focus on the mounting evidence of her meddling in things that were best left unmeddled. He couldn't risk trying to keep them both safe if it came down to it and where once he may have been able to throw her aside, now…

 _The irony of this clusterfuck is that of all the places to get help, it's Granger offering it._

"Who are your best friends, Draco? The ones you trust above all others."

Thrown off by the sudden question, he automatically sneered at her. "Slytherins don't have friends. They have associates."

She looked away and shrugged, idly playing with the hem of her cardigan; Draco wondered vaguely if he'd have it off by the end of the evening. He stood up from his chair, the idea fuel to his over-sensitive nerves, but she suddenly pinned him with a warning glance.

"Although I appreciate your," Granger paused a moment, weighing her words carefully, "viewpoint, it stands only as a placemaker for the actual answer."

Draco glared at her, unmoved. "I don't need or want friends, Granger."

Her brown irises flashed hurt before she looked away. Draco couldn't place the root cause of the emotion, but Granger had the tendency to snap back like an elastic band; thus, he couldn't even fully contemplate her reaction before she dived back into the conversation.

"I feel like you and I just travel around in circles. It's the same sticking points that keep us from actually getting anywhere." She paused to exhale, not allowing for clarification. "You see, I started Hogwarts with no friends. Shocker, I know. Ron and Harry found me annoying and bossy at first," Granger sliced him a look of sheepish amusement, "and it wasn't until the troll on Halloween that we found friendship in one another."

Draco snorted at the word "friendship" but ran his tongue over his teeth in antsy consideration.

 _These fucking Gryffindors. How could they possibly have gotten the lion as an emblem when they're all so bloody soft?_

"What happened with the troll?" Draco couldn't help but ask. He studied his fingernails intently, masking the sincere interest he had in this story starring the Gryffin-dorks.

 _Have I ever sunk lower?_ He thought with a sigh.

Granger's smile curved kiss-swollen lips. "Well, long story short- Ron had insulted me earlier in the day and I spent the Halloween feast crying my eyes out."

"You didn't know about the troll," Draco concluded, biting back an obvious retort about red-head's idiocy.

"No. And Harry and Ron knew that. When they found me, the troll had trapped me in the girls' bathroom. We managed to take it down together."

A groan escaped past Draco's lips as Granger lapsed into her nostalgia. "That has to be the motto for your house. Do reckless shit together and you earn a friend for life."

"I'll take that over loneliness." The barb hit its mark but Draco hid the wound, only allowing an almost-comical rise of his eyebrows. Truth was, he didn't know why he was resisting her question; the sooner he answered, the sooner he could get back to mapping out her body. Draco supposed, as he thought on it, that her interest in Voldemort-related things from him was logical, considering her well-known stance on the side of the Light but for Granger to dig deeper than that triggered Draco's walls.

 _It's called boundaries, Granger. Are you familiar with the concept?_

They were necessary, essential in fact, because he had no clue what he would look like if he allowed her to strip away the Malfoy name, the Death Eater glory… would she like what she discovered? Would he?

The thought curdled in his brain like days-old porridge, souring this whole give-and-take session.

"Why the fuck does it matter? You have eyes, you can see who I'm around. It's none of you sentimental swots, that's for sure."

Granger just looked at him, her stare swimming in patience. "It's a fairly innocent question. Would you like me to trade it out for one less so?"

His returning glare could have withered flowers, it was that glacial. "Fuck you."

Jumping from the chair then, Granger rushed toward him and trapped his face between her hands again; she stood on tiptoe as she strained to keep eye contact with him but her complete lack of balance had her stumbling into his solid frame. Reluctantly and far too harshly, Draco gripped the sides of her waist.

"Why can't you trust me" she exclaimed, confusion creating ripples on her face.

He remained impassive. "I don't need to."

The ripples softened to smooth skin at his answer. Draco wasn't sure if she was aware but her fingers stroked the ridge of his jaw, the contact reminiscent of his wand crackling in his palm. Electric. Comforting.

"You may have to," she said quietly, almost apologetically. Gray eyes fell closed to block out the truth but it rushed in nonetheless, like the crowding of night on the horizon and it was just as black, just as broad.

Granger, rather shaky upon her own precipice, inched closer until their lips just barely touched. Lust tickled Draco's tonsils, tuning his body back into the willing, delectable, and fucking obnoxious woman in front of him.

Anger over the whole situation finally nudged him over the edge, sharpening the lust in his blood.

"Theo and Blaise," and then he ground his lips into hers so hard, he suspected to find a bruise later.

No matter. Granger's lips pressed back enthusiastically, opening to allow the sweep of his tongue; Draco pulled in her bottom lip and sucked hard, rewarded when a moan vibrated up her throat.

Encouraged, he moved to lather a path up her jaw, finding a sensitive spot as he ran his tongue in the rim of her ear. Granger shivered and dug her nails into his chest.

"More," she whispered, wonderment heavy in her voice. Draco grunted his approval.

Taking the lobe into his mouth, he ran his teeth over the skin while inhaling the subtle wafts of her shampoo coming from her sweat-slick hairline. Granger's hand had found the roots of his hair, damp like hers, and guided his head down her neckline.

 _Can't help but be bossy._

An unexpected chuckle tumbled from his lips as he peppered kisses over every inch of exposed skin, delighted when he found the tendon taut in her shoulder. He bit down. She gasped. He thought he'd never been so hard in his life. Draco pushed aside her shirt for a hidden-away section to mark as his own.

"Are you," she swallowed, panting at the swirls he was now painting over her collarbone, "going around kissing anyone else like this?"

Another gasp, this one stolen by his seeking lips.

"You're the one with all the admirers, Granger." Draco kissed her again, aggressively, as his hands moved underneath her shirt to the scorching skin of her back.

She broke away from his lips. "Honesty, Draco," she chided. Her hands, tentative yet also trembling with eagerness, skipped from the thread-thin skin behind his ear, to his Adam's apple that bobbed from his compulsive swallowing. The naiveté of her movements distracted him momentarily from her question and only served to drive Draco to the edge; he wanted to teach her everything.

"No Granger," he relented. "I'm a bit preoccupied with just the one meddling female."

She smiled at that and moved her hands to his chest. Coffee-dark eyes connected to his, fingertips coasting over the solid weight of his pecs to the responsive hollow above his belly button. Their breaths had all but suspended; the room's silence cradled the unspoken intention of her searching fingers.

 _She wouldn't dare._ His eyes flicked back and forth between hers and those damn lips that had yet to sate his hunger. Just as he decided he would continue feeding the lust that beat through his blood, Granger made her decision.

She moved lower. Giving a moment to swirl around the fabric concealing the rim of his belly button, her intention rang clear and Draco panicked like an untried boy. He rested his hands over hers.

"We should get going. Curfew's soon."

He looked at her, the gray yet again as implacable as thunder before a storm and after a weighty pause, she slowly nodded. Granger vaulted the last couple inches on tiptoe to plant a final kiss on his lips. He could taste virtue there and also the incessant flavor of temptation and for the umpteenth time that night, Draco wished he could claim it for his own.

Instead, he stepped away.

"You leave first," Draco murmured. He turned to avoid her eyes, instead finding purchase on the Vanishing Cabinet behind the chair he was previously sitting in. Slowly, he licked the waning taste of Granger from his lips simultaneously tattooing on his brain the one and only thing that should matter.

The task. The task. The bloody fucking task.

Needle-sharp pokes on his cranium until it bleeds through and washes out whatever mark Granger was attempting to make. He refused to let her take hold, to color him permanently.

Even so, he could still feel her behind him, wavering like a leaf in the wind.

The tell-tale quick inhalation of breath and then, "Draco, I- "

"Don't." He cut her off.

Granger left shortly thereafter, leaving behind an unmitigated wreck of unfulfilled lust and too-extreme emotions roiling through him. Draco gripped his wand and blew the nearest pile of junk to oblivion.


	20. The Truth can Burn

**A/N: Thanks for hanging in with the ups and downs of our fated couple! I will warn you that I've hit a bit of a dry spell with writing so although I am four chapters ahead and will maintain my regular updating schedule, there may come a time where I will be outpaced! Stick with me though- Dramione will find their way through the mire of my head.**

 **As always- shout out to my beta, JG, and to our sensational Queen JK, for the content that has allowed my imagination to springboard from.**

* * *

 **The Truth can Burn**

* * *

" _We are all broken. That's how the light gets in." -Ernest Hemingway_

Despite having an incredible wank in the shower, Draco tossed and turned all night to the nearly tangible replay of Granger's fingers trailing down his chest. He was so restless that he witnessed the kiss of dawn upon the sky so, rather than torture himself with further fantasies of Granger, Draco rose for the day. He snuck from his dorm where the rest of the 6th year males slept, for the most part, blissfully unaware.

Fire banked, Draco was drawn to the dark, deep, undisturbed waters of the lake, visible from the one window seat in the underground common room.

Even the fish were asleep somewhere at this early hour.

Draco sat with some parchment and quill he snagged from a pile of abandoned homework and paused, conflicted over how to argue his current position.

From his angle, he looked well and truly fucked.

 _Dear Father_

He paused. The slightest trembling was visible in his penmanship and Draco considered for a moment scraping it to start anew. Lucius did hate anything less than impeccable. Impeccable clothing. Flawless handwriting. Pristine reputation.

Granger's damnable fingers flirted at the edge of his consciousness.

 _I'm sorry to report that I have yet to be successful. Unforeseen circumstances arose and complicated my latest efforts. I request any resources that could detail repairs of magical furniture._

Draco's hand hovered a moment, considering. He believed his vague language would make sense enough in context; with a resigned sigh, Draco scratched out a second apology to truly enunciate his sincerity then signed simply, "Your Son".

Of all the bullshit written in the letter, those words seemed the least true at the present moment and it was all because of that seductive swot.

 _It's too early in the bloody morning for this._ Draco retreated quietly back to his quarters to seal the letter with wax before heading up to the Owlery. His own eagle owl was missing, likely out hunting, so Draco settled for a school owl and sent off the letter, anxiety rippling over his face.

As much as he simultaneously relished and resented the quiet space for reflection, the sour smell of too many creatures in a neglected area offended his aristocratic upbringing so he took off, roaming the upper corridors. He passed windows at regular intervals, noting the white-bright sun fighting against a thick bank of clouds draped over the mountain tops.

 _Dreary weather. Perfect for the day's upcoming activities._

At some point, probably around the time of the Amortentia, Draco decided to stop repressing the obvious- he was attracted to Granger, recklessly so. Somewhere between the summer stint and that first encounter during prefect rounds, all the dark prohibited thoughts locked in the depths of his mind were unleashed and he felt washed out. Stripped clean. And it seemed utterly impractical to try to hide his own thoughts from himself any longer.

 _Where's the harm,_ he concluded, _so long as shit stays in control._

Clearly he overestimated his self-discipline or underestimated Granger's allure because here he was, preparing for another inquisition round with her.

 _And what's the gain? A secret snog session that has me seriously considering fucking a mu… muggle-born._

Draco paused mid-step, slightly jarred by his mental wanderings. Too far down one of those twining theoretical paths and he may get lost and forget the bigger picture.

No matter that the picture was beginning to look like a representation of muggle hell.

 _I just need to cleanse her from my system and quit her. Sooner, the better._

Draco turned down an inactive staircase and heated at some of the things he expected to wring out of Granger this afternoon.

 _Perhaps… after this time. Then I'll be done._

oOo

Hermione flipped through her journal for a fresh page, intent on over-analyzing every moment from the night before, when her hands froze on her last entry. The one written after the Amortentia that simply said- green apples.

She puzzled in the quiet of her dormitory, her mind flitting to fit together the disjointed pieces of information until, the confusion wrinkling her face gave way to harsh lines of outrage.

oOo

Draco arrived early to the Room of Requirement, partly to avoid the tentative movements of Blaise and Theo in the common room and partly because Granger found him last time; she obviously didn't know what to ask the room for, other than himself.

The thought shuddered through him. He would never have expected a time where Granger would be asking for him. He would have laughed himself into St. Mungo's insanity ward before expecting that such a thought would warm him.

Draco entered the room of Lost Things and strolled unconsciously toward the Cabinet which, now that he thought on it, he needed to seriously buckle down and work on.

As soon as he shook off the misguided attraction to the Gryffindor princess.

Steadfast footfalls could be heard as a prelude to Granger's arrival; as she rounded a corner of broken bookcases, Draco amended his earlier statement.

This girl was no princess with her many colored toffee curls flung in every direction as she strode towards him, grim tilt to her face. No, Granger was a lioness and it looked like she spotted her next meal.

Stopping only a meter shy of Draco, she wasted no time on pretense.

"Do you still look at me like I'm a mudblood? Because I'm not sure if I can keep kissing you if you do."

Draco reared back a step at the force in her question, the heat of the insult building under his skin but the feeling was something he was familiar with and thus, could handle, even relish..

He scowled, stepping forward to match stance with her. "Shit, Granger, do you think I would be kissing you if that's what I thought?"

The answer seemed less than satisfactory for her. Restless energy tumbled through her body, starting with her sparking hair and ending with her feet pacing back and forth in front of Draco. It had the unpleasant feel of when discipline was meted out by his father, something he had no intention of living with at Hogwarts. So, he counted backwards from ten in his head, anticipating a quiet, Granger-free afternoon in his common room if he reached zero and she still didn't reply.

She finally did, on two.

"That's a very Malfoy answer. Malfoy was the bully that would call me mudblood. I want the Draco answer."

Her stubbornness rifted through him, the resultant fissure widening to allow the potential of him and her to fill up his insides with utter delusion, a delusion that he had no business in entertaining.

And so he raged at her, at the impossibilities that were so darkly sweet that he salivated. He raged at her shrewd and immovable stance about his being two people because he was and always will be a Malfoy.

"Stop splitting me into two people! That's not how it works, you stupid witch!"

Draco's hands fell to her shoulders and shook them so hard, her teeth clattered. He didn't give a fuck, so long as she abandoned this asinine notion that she could discover him like some sole candy at the bottom of a bag or forgotten gift under the Yule tree.

Without a look or explanation, he released her and retreated back so that the impressive height of the Vanishing Cabinet bolstered him like a wall.

As much as Draco ached to storm off and abandon this whole deal her… intimate knowledge of him halted his more impulsive urgings, along with the faintest unnamed emotion that hovered between them, just out of reach. If only he could identify it and then throw it in the back of his head with all the other forbidden things, then he could be well and truly done with her.

So he stayed, for the sake of knowledge of course, and crossed his arms formidably.

She was not cowed.

"Are you not going to answer then?"

He growled. "Fuck, you're tenacious. All you damn Gryffindors the same, just barging in blind with no thought to your actual purpose."

Draco raised Granger's hackles with that one as her spine stiffened. Oddly, he felt the earlier lust stir in his blood.

"And all you Slytherins are the same, trusting no one not… like you." Her bluster had faded by the end, hurt crinkling the corners of her eyes; he swallowed any semblance of compassion.

 _Malfoys don't soothe._ He reminded himself. Draco wondered if he ever had to remind himself to be "himself" quite so often before.

 _Damnable witch._

"That's because," he replied, the resentment undiluted in his voice, "the rest of you wrote us off instantly. Left little choice, don't you think?"

As she gaped for a retort like a fish, the buoyancy of victory swelled in Draco's chest so much that he felt it puff out pompously like an arsehole… but a right one.

So addicted was he to getting one up on her- _it had been a very long time_ \- he piled on.

"Ah, good. I finally outsmarted the brightest witch of our age," he finished bitingly.

Silence, heavy and uncomfortable, followed on the heels of his taunt. Draco recrossed his arms, no longer particularly satisfied by the ending to their squabble. Granger's face had softened from consternation to understanding, her wide brown eyes rapt on the floor as her hands fiddled with the edge of her muggle trousers.

The material was blue and much more substantial than typical trousers. They also framed her hips in a way that made Draco ache to replace them with his hands.

He swallowed. "Are you going to get back to the stupid questions? I have better things I could be doing."

Granger looked up to him at that, her face too fucking transparent as hurt, _again_ , flared across it. "Yesterday it was about getting back to the kissing."

They stared one another down, drawn together like magnets but both resisting the pull. Well, Draco was; Granger switched from hurt to determined so fast his head would have spun except that his eyes couldn't leave her, not even as she picked her way over through the junk. Not when she paused in front of him to pull in a fortifying breath. It was only when she vaulted up to kiss him, open-mouthed, that his implacable gray eyes closed.

She tasted of coffee, tinged with desperation and Draco wondered how he was ever going to be satisfied by kissing after they were through.

Granger gripped his hands fiercely, as if she were trying to convince him of something, before gentling and ambling up the lengths of his arms. She paid extra attention to the raised ridges of the Mark and the sure, exacting movements of her fingers on his skin felt like some bittersweet absolution that she had no reason to give.

He soaked it in greedily, a sponge long dry from lack of compassion.

Granger wandered away from his mouth, planting slow kisses on his jawline to his neck until a little purr of approval vibrated against the base of her throat as she licked the skin boldly. "What does it feel like," she paused long enough to ask before returning to her oratory jaunt back up to his lips.

Draco's breath caught as the cool air hit the heated areas she abandoned and he inhaled hard, taking in some of her chaotic hair in the process.

He batted at it, twining the locks and fisting them so he could carefully jerk her eyes up to him. "It feels wrong," he answered, knowing that the question referred to their kissing.

Brown eyes darkened to resemble the enduring bark of trees in the Forbidden Forest, trees that had never seen the light of day. Draco went hard in less than a second, not even caring that it skimmed against her belly. Granger pushed up and nipped his lips.

"Bullshite, Draco."

In retaliation, he pressed his pelvis into her yielding midsection. Granger gasped but didn't move away. She twined her hands around his neck instead, binding his body flush against hers. Brushing her lips back and forth across his, she repeated herself.

A pressure built in Draco's chest, the truth like kindling that sparked higher with every uninhibited kiss, each determined touch and he knew that she could have him baring his soul with just the right flick, suck, caress.

 _Fuck. I don't even care. Take it all. Anything would be better than this._

Granger had moved to massage his neck and the firm pressure on his ever-aching muscles had him dropping his head to her shoulder in surrender.

His face buried in her curls, the sweet and earthy scent of her enveloping his senses, Draco whispered the damning evidence into her hair thinking it may well get tangled there and lost forever.

Unbeknownst to him, Granger has excellent hearing.

"It does feel wrong. It feels wrong to kiss you and to want you and to still feel compelled to harangue you when you do some stupid Gryffindor shit. And yet underneath all that I think, why the fuck should any of this matter? You're Granger and I'm Malfoy. But then, that somehow feels wrong too."

He straightened after that and stepped back towards the chairs left from yesterday, as if nothing happened.

Granger collected herself from his brisk movement and then draped herself in her own seat, her posture rigid as she stared across the empty space with an air of expectation. Draco relaxed at that; his confession must indeed have fallen on deaf ears.

"Would you like to know what I feel, Draco?"

He snapped his eyes back to her, tracking the nervousness flicker from her face, that bottom lip already snug between teeth, to her hands that were gripping knees like lifelines.

She looked as terrified as he felt.

 _No, Granger. No, I don't want to know._

"I don't need your pathetic consolation prize to lure me into playing this game. Feel free to keep your thoughts to yourself," he sneered while simultaneously beating back the hope that Granger would rebel.

She did with nearly everything else he said.

Unfortunately, not with this. Granger froze at his taunt, save for the narrowing of her stony glare on his person.

"Fine," she gritted. Then, after a pause added with not a little malice, " _Malfoy_."

Draco detailed quickly in his head all the ways in which he would get back at her for that rather transparent gibe, the most tempting ones having her on her knees.

Granger then dropped her elbows to said knees, cradling her head in open palms. "Let's get on with the verbal flagellation, shall we?"

He rolled his eyes and lounged back in his chair. "Wordy, even for you," he muttered to himself.

A little smile quirked her lips before, turning solemn, she ventured, "Would you tell me what happened to you over the summer? After you left."

Relief was keen. Ironically, the Dark Lord proved safe territory to speak on since it had everything to do with the brain instead of that muscle beating in his chest.

Gleaming in the shadow-filled space, his quicksilver eyes gazed intently at the curls hiding her curious stare. Draco blatantly stretched his left forearm out onto his extended leg; although the Mark stirred no reaction from the little lioness, he himself could use the reminder.

 _Malfoy. Death Eater. Tainted._

"A welcoming committee awaited my arrival," he said wryly.

Granger just waited.

"The Dark Lord expected a report, you see, since I had gone quiet for several days. So I pandered and relayed the information I gathered which, regrettably, was not much."

Looking a little ill, Granger swallowed causing her head to bob on her hands.

"What did you tell him?"

Draco looked away from her. "Mostly things about Potter," he hedged. Then, as an afterthought he speared her, "As well as those fake Order names. You can imagine his pleasure when he found out the truth about those."

Despite the sardonic tone, Granger indeed looked like she was going to be ill when he moved his eyes back to her face.

She sat slumped in her chair, her face nearly drained of color as she worried her bottom lip. The sight did not have the desired effect; instead of being satisfied by paying her back for that little stunt, a strange mixture of protectiveness and shame burned low in his stomach.

Draco prowled over and crouched in front of Granger, using her knees to balance himself. With the back of his hand, he swept the curtain of curls off her forehead, remarking idly, "It was quite cunning of you, in all honesty."

Instinctually she followed the path of his hand, her eyes falling close. "I got you punished. That wasn't cunning, it was cruel and I wasn't even thinking of the ramifications when I was doing it… how stupidly short-sighted of me! I just wanted to get back at you for spying on me. Draco I'm- "

Draco swooped in and pressed his lips to hers, swallowing the apology whole before the sweetness of it seduced him into doing something truly stupid, like console her. In all of two breaths, the kiss turned forceful, desperate. He knotted his hand in her curls, tugging on the strands until she tipped her head up and exposed her neck. Draco lapped at it, completely enthralled by the tangy flavor that rolled over his tongue. Hands creeping upward to dip under her shirt, he was thrown off balance, literally, when Granger pushed him to the ground and climbed to straddle his lap. They both gasped at the first contact of his very hard groin nestled between her legs, despite the layers of clothing.

Breaths heaving, they looked at one another.

Granger smiled sheepishly. "It's more," and then she wiggled experimentally.

Draco groaned. "It's not enough," then with one fluid motion he divested her of her shirt.

Draco's mouth watered; she was variations of amber all over from the sun-kissed skin of her shoulders that were dusted with freckles to the paler, pristine expanse that dipped between her breasts.

 _There_ he thought dazedly, dropping his mouth to admire that untouched patch of skin where the faintest reverberations of her heartbeat could be felt.

They were as fast as a Firebolt.

"Draco," she breathed, the tumble of syllables that were his name like a physical caress on his skin, hot and over sensitive from too much passion and not enough relief.

He thought he would expire without relief.

"I think," Granger squeaked as his hands palmed her breasts, "you need to answer another question."

Mumbling assent into the valley he was learning by taste, he shivered as her nails scraped along his scalp, ending in fists bunching his shirt.

Granger shivered, then she moaned, and Draco felt like his heart was learning a new metronome at the symphony that was her body.

He fingered the thin cotton edge of her bra- magenta and likely matching her knickers, knowing what he did from the summer. He thought of sliding a finger inside until she spoke too gently, too sympathetically, "Can I help you?" she asked.

Her chin rested on his head, the weight of her and her compassion crushing whatever desire to be found right out of the situation. Draco pondered the myriad ways he could answer her question and as much as he wanted to summon some glacial retort, the heat of her body just melted the malice right out of him.

"No, Granger. This is mine."

She sighed and the defeated breath tickled his scalp. They sat in this awkward, passion-disrupted position until Draco couldn't stand it. He peeled himself away from her slick skin, intent on calling time of death on this game but she surprised him. Again.

Granger utilized the separation of space to pull his shirt clean off his head. Her eyes roved over him, wide-eyed. Hungry.

 _Perhaps I'll stay a tad longer._

"You're iridescent," she breathed, the bronze of her skin an alluring contrast against his as she traced the lean muscle of his chest.

He rolled his eyes at her romanticism; Granger, too occupied to catch the expression, dropped to plant a kiss to his bare shoulder. Then another to his collarbone, and his pec… nearer to his nipple as her lips walked wild across his skin until he thought he could come right in his pants.

Draco coaxed her head back up and kissed foreheads with her. Eyes closed, he attempted to convince her that they were spinning delusion within these walls of a room that gave you anything you wanted.

 _Anything but true escape._

"Granger, you need to stop romanticizing this, and me. It doesn't change anything." A long pause wove through the conversation, cumbersome enough that Draco pulled back so he could gauge her by the emotion playing out on her face. Obstinacy carved her features into harsh angles.

"Just because you've done terrible things, doesn't necessarily make you a terrible person. Judge the sin, not the sinner."

As confusing as he found her last statement, Draco glared openly at this witch who simultaneously absolved and eviscerated him… all with a well-placed observation.

"You're fucking ignorant, you know that?" He gritted through his teeth. "This fantasy you have doesn't exist past these walls."

Granger's eyelids fluttered, shuttering the swirling emotion in her tawny irises.

"This fantasy we have."

Draco reared back as if struck. Granger almost tumbled out of his lap. He was utterly nonplussed that this girl, that _Hermione Granger_ , felt she could throw down such a gauntlet.

And so, since the hours in this dark and dirty room had stripped away his shirt and all of his Slytherin sensibilities, he responded to her honestly and without motive.

"It's like you're aiming to get hurt," he presumed, the astonishment in his voice leaking away to leave something a lot blacker, more bitter. "How are you this stupid?"

Granger fumbled her way off him, all that sweet-tasting skin flushing red at his sharp words. Despite being half naked, she wore her embarrassment like armor, the steel of it stiffening her back as she stood and looked down on him, pitifully.

 _Pitifully? What in the hell?_

"Draco, do you have any expectations for yourself? Or is that everyone else's responsibility?"

He sorely wished he bought his wand along so he could physically shut her up. Sadly, kissing her quiet had lost its appeal.

Draco stood up, as bare chested as her, and replied condescendingly, "What are you, my parents? I don't owe you anything."

The words rang false, especially so when she countered with a slow, dramatic rise of her eyebrows.

 _I'd be impressed if I wasn't so fucking furious._

Granger dared a step, close enough that she could re-establish contact if she chose. Her hand fluttered up in a moment of courage, teasing the air in front of Draco's chest, before falling back at her side.

"How about what you owe yourself?"

He had no answer for that, a question that no one other than Granger thought to ask, so he stared and blinked slowly at her in what he hoped appeared as indifference.

Later, Draco would take the abject fear that swept through his body at the question and analyze it; either that or just repress it with the rest of the uncomfortable things from his life.

Granger pressed on though, encouraged by his silence. "It's odd that someone who argues they are only one person can turn the Malfoy disdain on and off like a light switch."

He cocked his head. She shook hers in dismissal.

"Muggle term. Forget it." Silence pervaded and Granger sighed gustily, reaching for her discarded shirt and slipping back into it. Crossing her arms she continued, determined to make her idiotic point.

"I'm just trying to say you should think about yourself every once and awhile. What you expect from _Draco._ OK?"

He huffed angrily, crossing his own arms in defiance. Draco felt lost in the mire that was this conversation but felt compelled to leave with the upper hand either way.

"Why do you care?" he asked harshly.

Granger dropped her eyes at that and gave him a too-casual one shoulder shrug. "I've always been the one to believe too much in something impossible. Maybe it wouldn't be so impossible if I wasn't the only one to believe."

She raised those warm, chocolate eyes to him, the emotion rippling across the surface unidentifiable to Draco.

He swiped his arm to catch her, to demand a straightforward answer instead of the Ravenclaw babble she doled out, but she moved too swiftly out of his reach and disappeared down an alley of junk.

The emotional whirlwind of the past few hours shuddered through him; all of a sudden, Draco wanted nothing more than to succumb to sleep and leave this heaping pile of shite for another day.

He shrugged into his shirt and trudged for the exit. Granger was long gone, not even the pervasive scent of vanilla-sweet oranges remained.

Stepping into the corridor, the iron-work entrance dissipating behind his back, Draco fully intended on disappearing to bed for the rest of the day.

His plan was shot to hell when Blaise stepped out from behind a nearby pillar.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Draco cursed, coming to a full stop.

Theo stepped out, smirking, a visual reminder that Draco's luck really, truly sucked.

"I'd say you're the one with the jokes," Theo commented as he came even with Blaise. "You and Granger?" Theo waggled his eyebrows and simultaneously dodged Blaise's elbow. "So, what's the punchline?"

Draco glared. "Fuck you."

Theo's face creased with a frown. "That's not funny at all."

To Draco's enormous satisfaction, Blaise succeeded in connecting with Theo's midsection this time. Blaise looked back to Draco after the swift hit, worry cracking his normally-impassive facade. "Should we find a classroom?"

The blond sighed defeat and then thudded to a nearby classroom, muttering that one of his overbearing friends should cast a 'Muffliato' so their little intervention could stay private.

Once cast, the three traded loaded looks, their bodies angled to form a triangle.

Blaise, twirling his wand between two fingers, broke the silence. "I think you should come clean with us," he said, low but urgent.

"I don't tell you two things for a reason," Draco shot off. Nevertheless, he rolled up his silk sleeve and turned his arm up to bare the dirtiness of his soul.

Theo caught sight of the Mark and then backed away, as if it was contagious. _An actual potentiality, considering his father._

Blaise pushed, dissatisfied. "This explains hardly nothing."

"It explains why I can't tell you anything. I can't block everything from the Dark Lord."

 _Especially now that Granger has polluted my memories with all those delicious images._

Blaise crossed his arms stubbornly. "This doesn't explain Granger."

Draco rolled his eyes, having lost patience with this conversation five minutes ago. "I can't explain Granger."

Theo just chuckled, breaking the tension that had built between the other two.

"I could. And I don't even know all the dirty details."

Draco lunged for him, pushed over the edge by his friend's constant and inappropriate humor, but Theo stepped deftly around Blaise and continued from behind the tall, black statue.

"Coincidentia oppositorum. Honestly, don't you read anything other than that stupid Arithmancy book?"

"Theo," Draco growled in warning, taking a predatory step nearer.

"Okay, okay. It's a concept you see largely in alchemy. It's the unification of opposites… sum is greater than its parts?"

Draco stared blankly as Blaise threw a bewildered look over his shoulder.

Sighing, Theo stepped from behind Blaise and approached his friend with solemnity darkening the blue of his eyes.

"She's everything you're not, Drake. Mud- " the blond sliced him a look, "Muggleborn to your pureblood. Compassion to your indifference. On and on. It's presumed by Paracelsus- at least in alchemical work- that opposites assert one another and by doing so, reveal their oneness, their unity."

The philosophy, a bit esoteric even for three intelligent snakes, settled between them like a millstone that no one felt inclined to remove.

At an attempt to break the increasingly tense silence, Theo loped towards the door remarking drolly, "But don't pay attention to my rambling, mate. I have no social skills whatsoever, I have to rely on crusty old books for explanations."

Theo braced himself on the door handle and looked back at his fellow housemates, still frozen in the middle of the classroom.

Blaise, ever the pragmatist, whispered into the darkened space. "What are you going to do about her?"

Draco's pale head sagged. "Cut her out, I suppose." He fisted his hands in his futility. "Before someone else does it for me."


	21. Quidditch and Questions

A/N: Continued thanks for those that are reviewing, following, and favoriting! It's been a struggle the past two weeks to get pen to paper but another chapter has been churned out and our lovely characters' story continues. Your kind words and views fill me up with motivation :)

* * *

 **Quidditch and Questions**

* * *

" _I can't love you in the dark, it feels like we're oceans apart_

 _There is so much space between us, maybe we're already defeated,_

 _Everything changed me" -Love in the Dark by Adele_

Cutting her out of his life turned out to be much more difficult than Draco anticipated.

At first, he was consumed by the reading material his father sent, along with a page-long evisceration of Draco's value to the Malfoy name. Most evenings he worked in the Room of Requirement as he attempted obscure spells on the Cabinet.

None worked.

He enlisted what help he could from Blaise and Theo, the three of them poring over texts until the early hours of the morning.

They found nothing.

So, naturally, Draco sought distractions that would help unwind the slowly tightening noose around his throat. And, naturally, Granger came to mind.

He watched her during Potions and mealtimes. He attempted to goad her during Arithmancy when she wasn't helping Theo. Granger predictably ignored him through it all, every clash of eyes and code-laced comment. Draco's nights slowly transitioned from long, futile hours with the Cabinet to equally long, frustrating hours with a silent journal.

Like a sickness, he couldn't shake it off. The witch had swept through him like a fever that wouldn't break and Draco detested every fucking minute of it.

Any other female and they would be at his feet, begging for a spare second from him, only heir to a Sacred Twenty Eight house. _The Malfoy name was falling unpredictably short. Father would be appalled. On so many levels._

Draco tucked away the thought as Slughorn dismissed Potions on the Friday before the first Quidditch game of the season, Slytherin v. Gryffindor. After packing up his things, he and Theo said goodbye to Blaise then followed the Gryffindors out of the dungeon classroom. Granger's hair bounced in front of the pair on their way up the stairs, Draco's eyes glued to the unruly curls, until rough hands yanked him down a corridor.

Draco whirled around, the fierce scowl on his face effectively scaring the lesser years from the hall.

"Bloody hell, Theo! Is this the new tenure of our friendship? Secret meetings in the corridors?" he hissed at his unusually stoic friend. Theo's arms were crossed, wand fisted in his right hand. Draco was struck by the image that didn't meld with his naturally irreverent mate.

"It is when my friend continues to make an arse of himself." The striking brunette advanced on Draco, his knuckles white from the force of his anger. "Since Blaise doesn't get to witness your embarrassing behavior in Vector's class, I have to step in and be the responsible one."

Theo's face scrunched up in disgust at the word although he continue stalking forward, forcing Draco to retreat, blocked in by the wall and his very irate housemate. Unsheathing his wand from his robes, Draco held it at his side and narrowed his eyes warningly.

"Tread carefully, Theo."

The disgust bled right out of Theo and left behind a tired frown and compassionate blue eyes.

"You said you were going to stop this. But you haven't. I don't pretend to understand why but I'm pretty sure at this point I'm not the only one who's noticed."

Draco started to pale at that.

"If you can't stop then don't. But be discreet and stop making a fool of yourself. You're giving Slytherins a bad name." With a friendly tap to Draco's shoulder, Theo turned back toward the staircase.

The two snakes were making a bad habit of showing up late to Arithmancy.

Granger seemed to be the only one to care or notice, for that matter. She glared at Draco as he took his seat then flashed a shy smile to Theo.

Draco childishly pinched Theo's thigh hard under the table, causing him to yelp and a rush of satisfaction to flood Draco.

"Just because I'm not visible does not mean I'm unaware of who comes to my class late. Repeatedly." Professor Vector appeared from a door at the back of the room and looked at the two boys turning a dull red under her penetrating gaze. "Five points from Slytherin each, for your lack of commitment to your studies."

A protest rose then died in Draco's throat; he flicked a quick glance at Granger to note her reaction at Vector's consequence and was beleaguered to find indifference, instead of satisfaction. She bowed her head back to her work.

Not long after, Theo vigorously motioned Granger over to double check his work thus far. She leaned over the table, too close, as her many-colored curls swayed forward and blocked the sure and efficient movements of her hand on parchment.

Better that than to imagine those sure and efficient movements on skin instead.

Draco tried to stay focused on his own progress with the problem- instead of her pervading scent bringing about flashbacks- that he didn't initially process her rise from the table.

Granger stood there looking a little bit shy and totally awkward when she exhaled on a rush and asked, "I tend to go to the library after dinner to work on further translation. Would you like to join me, Theo?"

The boy in question startled at the familiarity of Granger using his first name but recovered quickly. After a surreptitious glance at Draco, Theo replied a bit cautiously, "That would be great. Thanks, Granger."

She flashed Theo a smile then turned challenging eyes to Draco, the fidgeting of her fingers belying her anxiety.

The two no-longer-enemies shared a look, far too long to be appropriate and much too loaded to go unnoticed, before Draco deliberately dropped his gaze back to the parchment where the numbers and symbols now blurred.

Granger didn't even sigh disappointedly as she retreated to her seat, burying herself between the books and Patil bint.

After a beat of silence he caught Theo's undertone on a whisper, "I don't know whether to say good work or you're an idiot."

The nub of Draco's quill suddenly broke on parchment, ink bleeding black across his near-perfectly scripted answer.

He couldn't summon the energy to even care about cleaning up his ruined assignment because the veracity of Theo's statement felt like a boulder on his neck; one he couldn't maneuver around, at least until he blasted it into oblivion.

Inexplicably though, the brief moment of interaction with Granger brought a surprising dose of stability to Draco's gradually fraying nerves and already he ached for another hit. Flicking a glance through his eyelashes at Granger, Draco decided to risk the murmurs of his curious classmates to at least figure out what in the fuck he and Granger were doing.

Also because it just felt too good. Already nerves fluttered in his chest.

Professor Vector cleared her throat. "Please complete these assignments for next class. You're free to go."

All at once, chairs scraped over the stone floor as the small group of students hastened for their dormitories. Draco nodded to Theo who, taking the hint, left with the others.

Granger predictably took her time to organize the pile of school-work strewn across half the table so Draco tarried himself, deciding as he stared at his fucked-up parchment that it was a lost cause and he would just start fresh later.

Wordlessly, Draco cast an 'incendio' to the sheet. The ashes piled on his desk as it disintegrated in the licks of flame. Magic once more gathered in his fingertips and after a moment's concentration, Draco attempted to transfigure the ashes.

The ashes cycled in a whirlwind before landing in his hand as a small orchid. It felt petal-soft against his fingers even if the color was as black as his robes. He chanced a glance at Granger who was staring transfixed by the flower in his hand. Those brown, awe-struck eyes flicked up to him. Draco wondered if it were stupid that he felt like giving her the flower.

 _Really stupid. Don't even think about it, arsehole._

Reality broke over Granger and she turned to flee from the classroom. Draco dropped the orchid and hurried after her.

"Granger," he urged, the syllables low and desperate in the corridor. She didn't respond.

Draco refused to be ignored. He reached with his right hand and grazed the fingers of her left, his pointer hooking around her pinkie for a breath just as Granger halted in the middle of the hallway.

That first feel of her sparked along and revived his nerves, as if he had been trudging around numb for the past couple weeks.

"Draco," she said, calling his attention upwards. Her face wavered between expectation and wariness. "Did you want something?" she prompted when he remained quiet.

 _You._

Draco swallowed lest that word somehow tumble out of his mouth. Something akin to panic flared in his chest; unconsciously he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to expel the prickly heat.

"I wanted to know if- " he jumbled as he searched for the proper words, "if we were all right."

"What we?" she asked, the words jagged as they sliced through his mind and revisited the moment in the Room where he effectively said the same thing.

It didn't sound nearly as good now that it was being thrown back in his face.

Sniffing impatiently, Granger continued. "Have you an answer to my question yet? On expectations?"

Arrogance poured through his veins and thickened his blood. The Malfoy demeanor slid in place as neatly as a lock and he cocked his pale brows at her, gray eyes oozing condescension at her tone. "I didn't realize you were my Professor handing out quizzes. Last time I checked, there's no requirement of me to answer your questions, Granger."

He crossed his arms, relaxing into the familiarity of this position, as Granger struggled with her overloaded bag.

After a huff of frustration, she aborted whatever task she set out for and, wandlessly, cast "Accio". His black orchid zoomed out of the classroom and into her open palm, its color a startling complement against the light tan of her skin.

Granger twirled the stem a moment before tucking it gently behind the shell of her ear, Draco's heart stuttering at the action. Their eyes connected as she spoke too casually, "Orchids are one of the symbolic flowers of apology. I bet you didn't know that, though." Then she strode off for her dormitory, not affording him a backward glance.

She would have lost that bet. Draco actually did know.

Hermione sat at her usual table in the bowels of the library, flipping blindly through a reference book for her Arithmancy class.

Despite having the look of someone deeply engrossed in her studies, Hermione's mind had already wandered away from complex calculations to stress over her spontaneous study partner.

After learning about Theo's connection to Draco, she hoped to utilize that friendship in a way that would force Draco's hand because evidently, her stubbornness was not cutting it.

 _Foolish boy. Doesn't he know we're too deep down the rabbit hole at this point?_

Hermione sighed. She personally was barely treading water, trying constantly to remain above the flood of memories and coinciding emotions that had invaded most of her waking and sleeping moments.

Whether the same could be said about Draco remained to be seen.

 _Do I even want the same from him?_

Hermione's mind wandered up to her dorm where the orchid rested on her desk, stasis charm in place once she was able to find her wand in her wretched bag.

 _I suppose that answers that._

"Any room at that table for me or you prefer I stand?"

Hermione jerked her head up, finding Theo relaxed against a bookcase, feet and arms crossed as he smirked down at her.

She immediately scrambled to make space. "Of course! I'm sorry. I tend to get carried away."

He didn't say anything for a moment as he waited to sit across from her, speculative eyes tracing her face. "Clearly," he finally quipped.

Hermione openly reciprocated the speculation; she stared, unblinking back, while her teeth chewed the soft flesh of her lip.

Theo took mercy on her.

"What were you working on?"

She flipped through some loose parchment before wordlessly handing over the one in question. Anticipatory silence settled between them as Theo regarded her work, eventually taking out some spare parchment of his own to double check a few of the more complicated sections. Once he finished he placed the parchment in the middle of the table, eyebrows raised in a curious mix of appreciation and bewilderment.

Hermione's eyes never moved from his face. He made the briefest nod in her direction and then, "What's next?"

She exhaled breath she didn't even know she was holding as an excited smile already started to stretch her face.

"I like to prove the calculations are correct by switching out a few of the variables."

They scratched away for a while, making innocuous little murmurs about checking this or that, when Theo said far too idly, "You can see how one miscalculation brings the whole thing to its knees."

Hermione's quill paused a moment. This is partially what she hoped for when making the impulsive decision to study with Draco's best friend although she would have preferred less cryptic language.

 _Luna and Theo would get along splendidly._

Without lifting her eyes from the parchment, despite her handwriting looking like gibberish under her unfocused gaze, she contemplated aloud, "I believe one would then need to be very careful with every step. Perhaps we need more knowledge before continuing?"

Theo's voice grew dark with its own knowledge.

"Perhaps we don't continue at all."

Hermione huffed at that, looking up to make eye contact with the shuttered snake. And for a moment, she had thought they were getting somewhere.

She kept her voice low but firm. "I see everything through to the end."

Theo sighed and gathered his things. "A miscalculation. Perhaps." He spared another look at her before rising from the table, the dark blue of his eyes tinged with what looked to be resignation.

Hermione refused to let him leave with the last word; besides, she was _right_.

"Not a miscalculation because it's not a variable. My need to see it through is constant."

Theo almost disappeared down the narrow aisles of the library when she tried again. "Theo? I will see you next week… same time, same place?"

Hermione could no longer see him but his voice floated up as gratifying as wood smoke.

"Sure, Granger. Sure."

oOo

Hermione could think of a list the length of her arm of things she'd rather be doing instead of watching Quidditch. Kissing or throttling Draco tied for first; she wasn't sure whether to be amused or frustrated by the notion.

However, early Saturday morning found her thudding onto the Gryffindor bench near Harry, noting that the cream was missing _again._ It didn't take an intelligent person like herself to know that finding McLaggen would find the cream.

 _Frustrated. Definitely frustrated._

As difficult as it would make the day, Hermione felt it best to skip her morning coffee and the resultant run-in with McLaggen the charmer, and opted for black tea with toast, covered liberally with raspberry jam.

Luna had floated her way over from Ravenclaw table and settled next to Hermione, commenting that one should be careful with sharing raspberry jam, for one never knows if the person is worthy of the fruit. Hermione hummed her token assent despite having no idea to what Luna alluded. If she was of a mind, Hermione would exert the effort to introduce Luna and Theo, if only to have the pleasure of listening to the way they would knit conversations together. She smirked a little at that.

 _When I'm not so busy chasing a different, arrogant Slytherin._

Meanwhile, Harry was trying to wheedle Ron into some breakfast, a clear indication to anyone in radius that Gryffindors was one of the teams to play today.

 _I suppose I'll have to scratch those first two things off my list then since Draco will also be playing._

Transfiguration it is. The impressive, albeit imperfect, show from Draco yesterday had spiked Hermione's curiosity about transfigurement of destroyed items; the library was likely to satisfy said curiosity. She may even have time to zip down to the library and check out a book to peruse while in the stands.

"You really should have something Ron because you look dreadful," Luna commented in her airy, straightforward manner. "Harry even put a tonic in your cup to help with that!"

Intrigued, Hermione shifted her attention to her best friend, dread growing in her stomach as she watched the reckless boy stuff the little vial of liquid luck back into his robes.

 _No. He wouldn't cross that line._

Hermione cleared her throat and asked hesitantly, "Harry… you didn't, did you?"

The black-haired Quidditch Captain shrugged one shoulder, smirking as his ginger teammate gulped down the spiked pumpkin juice.

"I don't know what you're talking about Hermione," Harry said dismissively.

She sputtered. "You could be expelled."

He looked at her wide-eyed. Innocent. "Are you reporting me?"

Ron scowled at Hermione as he leapt from the table, optimism tumbling through him. "Hermione, you don't understand sports. Just mind your own business."

Embarrassed hurt shimmered through Hermione at the dismissal by both her friends, as if she was being unreasonable for following the rules. She crossed her arms and glowered at the boys, determined to convince them of the foolishness of this plan.

Before she could, GInny rushed up to Harry and Ron, a fellow teammate trailing her.

"Malfoy's not flying! Cried off sick," Ginny reported excitedly as she launched into the Slytherin roster update. Ron's eyes had gone wide at the news, looking at Harry.

Luna, a silent observer to the theatrics, piped up with those wide, gray eyes steadfast on Hermione's profile.

"How lucky for you," she said delightedly and then, almost as if it were an afterthought, "Ron."

The Gryffindor team dispersed after that, overcome by the contagious optimism that came from the news, as well as Ron's recently acquired confidence. Hermione finished her tepid tea and considered skipping the game altogether, partly to send a message to her two cheating friends and partly because Draco would be in the castle.

 _Sick. Pft. Shouldn't a Slytherin be more cunning with their excuses than that?_

Luna stirred at her side and pulled Hermione's attention. "Are you ready, Hermione?"

She stifled a sigh. There was no way she could succeed in shaking off Luna. They left the table and maneuvered around students, all trying to finish breakfast in time for the game, and also successfully avoided a leering McLaggen with the gentlest tug to Luna's jacket.

Steps upon steps upon steps up one of the Gryffindor stands, where already Lavender and Parvati sat huddled under blankets. Winter held Scotland in its grip firmly now, like a mother determined not to let her overeager tot stray. It was decidedly uncomfortable.

Swiftly, Hermione cast a warming charm on herself and Luna who was busy making an inane comment about the beauty of the world stripped bare. Hermione only wound her scarf tighter about her neck, unfazed by the supposed allure of the winter landscape.

Soon the game started and even as her eyes followed the action happening 500 feet in the air, Hermione's mind rooted through the labyrinthine halls of the castle as she pondered what would have kept Draco from playing.

Draco crouched edgily at the side of the Slytherin common room fireplace and waited. Despite the terrible blustery weather, everyone had left to watch the game which served Draco splendidly. After Theo returned from his little "study" date the night before, Draco told Blaise and him that he would skip the game and he requested they pass along the rumor that he was sick,

Theo smirked and muttered, "Sick in the head, maybe."

It took every ounce of Draco's self-control not to ram his oldest friend into the nearest wall and demand a detailed summary about what happened between him and Granger.

A summary that apparently didn't seem worth noting to Granger as the journal remained damnably silent. Such impulsiveness would only lend credence to Theo's taunting, though.

Blaise, thank Salazar, did as Draco asked without comment and so here he sat, unencumbered by wagging tongues, and waited. After a moment, the flames flickered green until they coalesced and fanned out to reveal the face of his beautiful, vibrant mother.

"Draco," she sighed, the relief heavy in her voice. Draco thought he would break down under the weight of it.

"Are you okay?" they asked simultaneously. Narcissa smiled faintly.

"Of course I'm okay, son. Your father is taking care of me."

Draco thought it would be rude to snort disbelievingly, especially considering how he learned etiquette at this woman's feet.

"Are you okay," she repeated.

He mulled over the question. Instinctively, he should wave it off with the mask of disdain that came as naturally as breath. However, if he were truly honest- _fuck you, Granger_ \- Draco wasn't sure. He had daily headaches to attend to, along with taking the time to silence his bed every night in the event he woke up from an all-too-common nightmare. He felt entirely alone with the burden of his task, as perpetual as his shadow.

And yet, he wasn't. Because he had Blaise and Theo and Melin help him, even Granger.

"I'm okay," Draco enunciated, testing the truth of the words on his lips. "Honest."

His mother's eyes stared out at him and it felt like she could see right through him. Her little frown of worry didn't reassure.

"There's a meeting soon, I can't stay long," she started.

Draco was once again grateful to be sequestered away at Hogwarts. He also felt a wide streak of resentment that he couldn't bask in his mother's presence for five minutes more. For an hour more.

"Draco I don't want you to think I expect- " Narcissa stopped, exhaled, then tried again. "You know I only hope for your happiness and safety." Her head turned suddenly as if to address someone out of Draco's sight and Draco moved to abort the fire-call, fearful that they were found out but her face swung back to greet his, Narcissa's eyes dark and intense as they bore down on him.

"Consider other options," she said and the fire flickered orange, wisps of her profile curling away with the smoke.

Draco knelt there gazing at the dancing flames until he couldn't feel anything in his feet. He rocked back onto his bottom and tapped his soles against the stone hearth of the fireplace attempting to disperse the tingles.

Unluckily for him, Draco had no way of dispersing the tingles from his head, brought on by that extremely confusing conversation with his mother. She seemed to be speaking without artifice and yet, whatever message she was trying to convey was lost on him.

Relief at seeing her barely lasted as Draco thought on her comment,

" _Your father is taking care of me."_

The implication rolled his stomach. Draco doubted his mother would last long under the care of his "loving" father which made it continually paramount for Draco to complete the task, if only to protect her.

His mother's parting words, however, suggested there may be another way.

Draco quickly cast a tempus charm and figured he had at least another hour before Potter likely dominated the pitch and the game ended.

 _Fucking perfect Potter._

With a sigh, Draco resigned himself to the 7th floor to try another spell on the Cabinet, all the while mulling over those mysterious options.

The minute Harry caught the snitch, literally right out of the substitute Slytherin seeker's hands, Hermione left the stands and bolted for the Gryffindor changing rooms.

She stood outside as they entered. She waited while they cheered at their unbelievable victory. She even bit her tongue when Dean cried, "Party in the common room!" despite knowing that Seamus likely smuggled in all manner of illegal goods.

Only when she heard just Ron and Harry's voices beyond the curtain did Hermione stomp in.

She glared at Harry and gritted, "That was illegal and you know it. They didn't even stand a chance!"

Harry looked nonplussed while Ron swooped down defensively in front of him, matching Hermione glare for glare.

"What are you, a Slytherin sympathizer now?"

The color drained right out of Hermione's face. Even though the accusation was a harmless goad on Ron's part, Hermione feared that everything she had kept bottled up these past months just leaked out onto the floor in front of her, a mess anyone could now slip on. If she wasn't so livid at her two best friends, she probably would have caved and told them everything if only to minimize the damage. But she was mad, utterly so, so she kept her lips clamped.

Harry intervened once he saw the direction the conversation was heading. Anxiously he announced, "I didn't do it! I didn't put anything in his cup!"

Ron and Hermione swung eyes onto their fidgety dark-haired friend, Ron looking shell-shocked at Harry's pronouncement while rage settled even more prominently onto Hermione's features.

"Explain," she near growled.

Harry blew out breath and turned his attention to Ron. "You have a confidence problem, mate. I wanted to try and relieve some pressure so that you could play to your natural ability and knew that if you thought you had some advantage, you'd loosen up. I meant for you to see it, Hermione," he looked at her then apologetically, "so you could tip Ron off to what it was."

This explanation fell into a thick silence, only punctured a few awkward moments later by Ron's acerbic tone as he stomped toward the exit.

"Glad to know you always had faith in me, Hermione, and I'm glad to see where your priorities are- _they didn't even stand a chance!"_ Ron mimicked before leaving the tent.

Harry and Hermione stared uncomfortably at one another; twice, he opened his mouth as if to say something and twice, he closed it, confusion and concern clouding his eyes.

"You coming up to the party?" he finally eked out, making overtly casual shifts towards the exit. Hermione waved him off.

"You go," she said, not hiding the bitterness in her tone. She felt a bit betrayed by Harry for using her in his ploy- and for Quidditch, of all things! Her mind couldn't help but churn paranoia at the thought that perhaps the boys didn't value her friendship as much if they were willing to play her like a pawn. A seemingly disposable one, at that.

She stood a moment longer in the changing tent vibrating anger and running through which hexes she could hit her supposed "friends" with and not be caught.

"Gah!" she nearly growled before leaving the same way the boys did.

Hermione encountered no one on the grounds or the stairwells and it was clear why as she crawled through the portrait to the Gryffindor common room. Butterbeer and firewhisky were flowing freely as the whole of the House crowded in a tight circle, fixated on Ron in the middle who was being cheered on by already-buzzed students. As she maneuvered the walls of the room to catch more than the back of Ron's head, she came to see what the cheering was all about- Ron appeared literally suctioned to her dorm mate, Lavender Brown, who was passionately grabbing fistfuls of his hair as they tumbled their way to the fireplace couch.

It felt like a light went out in Hermione's chest at the sight. She gripped her robes sporadically, stumbling back towards the exit, and trying to not think of her best friend inhaling beautiful Lavender Brown as if she were a Christmas pudding.

Trying and failing in that, Hermione still managed to crawl back out the portrait hole in one piece and walk blindly down one corridor, turn down a set of stairs… counting one-two-three breaths, wondering how even such a dim flicker of hope could be felt so strongly once snuffed.

She collapsed in the middle of a corridor as the breath shuddered out of her. Unluckily for her, that's how Draco found her.

He strolled up redolently, probably coming back from the 7th floor after some type of mischief, although she vaguely wondered why he was taking the long way around, before she realized her ridiculous position on the floor.

Hermione looked up at him and waited for some wise crack. He stared back, the emotion unfathomable in his stormy grays, when he reached out a hand.

The action mesmerized her after a day of carelessness wrought by her friends; his open palm with those delicately crooked fingers and near translucent expanse of skin, altogether a symbolic offer of kindness, made her want to cry.

Hermione grabbed it and allowed Draco to pull her up before she embarrassed herself any further. They moved down the corridor hand in hand until Draco found a darkened classroom. Only once they were ensconced in the room did Draco let go of her.

Hermione felt a similar echo of bereftment throb in her chest, much like the one felt at the sight of Ron and Lavender.

 _I don't think I care to analyze that too closely._

Instead, she cast her signature blue bell flame so she could visually appreciate the steadying figure of Draco Malfoy, even with the scowl twisting his face, and tried not to think too hard about late night, blue-lit talks with her boys.

They weren't worth her time right now.

Hermione turned her contemplative eyes to the attractive blond on the other side of the room. "Where were you coming from, Draco? If you weren't, well, you I'd think you were following me."

He ignored her curiosity entirely. _Surprise, surprise._

"I'm more interested in where you came from since it had you crumpled on the floor. Not your best look, Granger."

Draco prowled the edges of the room, his face in shadow but the anger almost tangible as it rolled off him. Hermione's back stiffened in defense until she realized the anger wasn't really directed at her. Her heart skipped a beat at the revelation. _How curious._

She mirrored his stride, trying to get closer to catch his gaze. "I came from the Gryffindor common rooms, in the throes of celebration."

Draco moved a step closer to the flame, highlighting the defined edge of his jaw. "Don't feel like celebrating?" he challenged.

Resentment, and sadness too, colored Hermione's response.

"Not to the uninterrupted view of Ron sucking the face off Lavender."

Draco stilled. She could see his mouth hover on the cusp of illumination and the temptation to throw herself at that mouth, to forget everything under its talented ministrations had her suppressing a moan of longing.

His lips were moving now, spitting ire. "Why are you so put out by the two of them?"

Hermione moved into the light of the fire, exposing herself. "I guess it just proves I never really had a chance."

Draco snorted as he turned away from the light, his tall lithe silhouette all that Hermione could pick up on in the darkness. It was maddening.

"Why would you want one? A chance, I mean," he said amusedly. Hermione glared uselessly in his direction. Voice gentling- so infinitesimal that Hermione thought she might be imagining it- Draco continued, "Granger if you put in a little effort, you could have your pick of anyone."

The notion surprised her, along with what it implied. Sometimes Hermione felt the silence did all the talking for the two of them.

She fidgeted away from the light and the searing possibilities tucked in between the breaths of his statement, and inched closer to him.

Draco remained unaffected at her onslaught, twitching only when she was close enough to touch him.

Summoning a dose of Gryffindor courage, she voiced the sweetest, the riskiest of his implications. "Even you?"

He didn't move. The answer slid over the gravel in his disembodied voice.

"I'm a death sentence."

Hermione immediately covered his already-clothed left forearm with her hand. "And if you weren't?"

Connected for but a moment, Hermione felt like the conviction of her thoughts, of her desires were pouring into his skin like a balm, soothing away the sharp and painful doubts he carried.

But then Draco shrugged her away, as if she burned him. And maybe she did. The truth could burn.

He snarled at her, "I don't have time for your theoretical bullshit, Granger."

 _Yes, the truth indeed burned._

Hermione stood her ground, hurling back, "You're right. You're too busy digging your own grave. At some point I'm going to stop offering my help."

 _My protection. My body. My vulnerability. My…_

She stared in the darkness at his indecipherable figure and wondered why in the name of Merlin she allowed herself to sink knee-deep into his contradictions. At one point, she would misjudge her step and be swallowed whole and for what?

 _Come on, Draco. Meet me halfway!_

"Lucky for me, I don't need your help."

Hermione extinguished the blue bell flame at that declaration, not wanting the stony Slytherin to see the tears stream down her face.

Short of strangling it out of him, she didn't think she'd ever succeed in squashing the arrogance he wore like a shield, that which kept him from deeper connection. As fascinating and- _all right, I'll admit-_ desirable as Draco turned out to be, his prattish Malfoy traits continued to win out.

Hermione shuffled her way towards where the door out should be, feeling twice the fool after having to light her wand to locate the handle. _Perhaps it's for the best. How could we possibly end well?_

She looked back to him, grateful the lumos wasn't strong enough to illuminate her mottled face, and sighed, knowing she would regret leaving without getting in the last word.

At some point during this miserable day, she was going to come out on top.

"Lucky for you, I'll keep your secret anyway. For now." Then Hermione slipped out the door before Draco could pin her down with a predictable string of curses. Or worse, his unpredictably persuasive lips.

oOo

Draco sat at the Slytherin table during dinner Sunday evening and allowed the inane chatter of his housemates drown out the pounding in his head.

The headaches had become commonplace in his day to day living but he wasn't above seeking relief that did not come in the form of a matronly grouch of a nurse asking too many questions.

So, despite not having an appetite, Draco slightly relaxed as the ebb and flow of conversation occurred around him, thankful that it didn't require any direct participation. His mind, unengaged, circled back again and again to Granger's dismissal of him the evening before. As much as it vexed him that she held the upper hand- she did, in fact, hold one of the keys to his destruction- Draco felt more troubled that their little game seemed to have run its course.

 _Can I find relief in nothing?_

Sighing, he forked another bite of whatever dinner was into his mouth, chewing and finding it tasting like cardboard. If he cared enough, he'd send a letter home to his father and inform him of the deteriorating quality put out by the elves.

Theo was talking to the left of him about some study group he had Monday evening when a terrified first year approached the table, stopping just shy of Blaise.

Draco raised his eyebrows impatiently. The first year blanched and then managed to stutter, "M-mister Zab-bini?"

Blaise turned, impassive, and deftly plucked a scroll tied with purple ribbon from the shaking hands of the boy, then shooed him away.

The collective 6th years near Blaise leaned in slightly, the only overt sign of their curiosity, as Blaise unrolled the parchment and scanned its contents. He made a strangled noise in his throat then slapped the scroll shut with a flick of his wrist.

Abandoning etiquette, Theo swiped it from Blaise and proceeded to read through it, ignoring Blaise's death glare the whole time.

Theo looked up and beamed devilishly. "Take me, would you? I always wanted to see what one of these hoity toity parties are like."

He handed the scroll to Draco who read that it was an invitation plus one to Slughorn's Christmas party. He passed it wordlessly so the rest of the group could get their fill. Draco entered the fray of the conversation, his own curiosity piqued.

"You're sacred twenty-eight, Theo. You know what hoity toity is."

Humor lightened Theo's voice. "Not Slug's version. Come on Blaise, no one would stoop to go with an ugly mug like yours."

The dark-skinned boy in question snorted and turned on the bench so he could scan the other tables where other first years were handing out similar invites.

"Please, I'd go with a mud- " Blaise hissed as the stinging hex that Draco instinctively cast hit his shoulder. "Fuck, Malfoy! That hurt!"

Draco's stony expression hid the turbulence of emotions simmering just below the surface. Alarm at the intensity of his reaction to the slur was soon lost under the building rage that his friend, one of his only confidantes, would use _that word_ around him now.

Instead of spewing all that emotion like a Hufflepuff though, Draco settled for a flat, "It would have hurt more if you actually had the chance to finish that sentence."

Draco happened to throw a glance over Blaise' shoulder after that ominous comment and noticed McLaggen, the oaf, strut his way up the Gryffindor table with a perfectly ordinary rose dangling from his fingers.

Too late, comprehension dawned.

"Oh, shit!"

Draco shot up from his chair and watched McLaggen make an obnoxious bow over the flower as he came even with Granger. She stood up to face him after it became apparent that McLaggen wasn't going to budge from his obsequious position.

Much of the Hall's volume dissipated to quiet murmurs as eyes from the staff down through the students' tables watched the rather public declaration.

Cormac asked, overloud as if he were on stage, "Hermione would you like to go to Slughorn's Christmas Party with me?"

Hermione's gaze skipped embarrassingly over the avid eyes watching the drama unfold until she met Draco's; they froze on him and even though the color wasn't discernible across the Hall, he could see how they instantly hardened with resolve.

"Yes, Cormac," she said loud and clear, only then turning her attention back to that preening peacock, "I'd be happy to."

The atmosphere of the Great Hall went back to normal after that although all Draco could hear over the blood rushing in his head was Theo muttering, "So much for seeing things through to the end." Draco collapsed back into his seat with his wand tight in hand.

 _That little snake._

Frustratingly, the thought came with far too much admiration.

He decided, for self-preservation's sake, that it would be best to escape to the bowels of the castle and away from speculative eyes so he murmured an inarticulate excuse and rose from the table.

As he made to stalk purposefully out of the Hall, he heard Blaise question Theo under his breath, "Can I call her mudblood now?" Wordlessly, Draco threw a hex over his shoulder before exiting, the vitriol from seeing that git McLaggen nab Granger pouring out of his wand and hitting Blaise.

Next time, it would be McLaggen on the other side of his bad mood, for taking what's his.


	22. Dear Diary

**A/N: Ack! I'm late... on many things. So firstly, a shout-out to all other fanfic authors for fanfic writer appreciation day (this past Wednesday) because being one myself knows that it is not as easy as one might think to bleed all over paper. Which essentially is writing. And of course, a shout-out to all fanfic readers who make the bleed out enjoyable. Boy, are we sadists. As a plea, I wouldn't mind- for appreciation's sake- a review on FIBH so far. Pretty please?**

 **Also- don't mind the formatting. Diary entries have still eluded me here on**

* * *

 **Dear Diary**

* * *

" _The pain, it will leave, once it's finished teaching you." -Unknown_

Monday evening, Hermione sat in her corner of the library and drummed her fingers restlessly against the most recent text Madam Pince acquired and set aside for her Arithmancy research. It lay open to a particularly radical theory, not that Hermione would know as she hadn't moved her eyes from the main aisle that led back to her corner for the past ten minutes.

Ten minutes after the time that Theo agreed to meet her.

She so hated tardiness. Hermione let out a sigh; the stress from the weekend was making her unreasonable. It's not like Theodore Nott, heir to one of the oldest pureblood families, Slytherin, and likely future Death Eater is an _actual_ friend.

Unfortunately she seemed a little short on those at the moment now that Ron decided to share a skin with Lavender; Harry had taken a stance of neutrality regarding Ron's relationship status and buried himself in that horrid Potions book and Draco… well, that was her own fault she supposed.

Nevertheless, Theo Nott was not a friend of any sort and so Hermione should have no hard feelings if he decided not to hold to his word.

Why she would care so much about such a changeable person was not something she cared to examine too closely.

Especially as said person suddenly stormed down the aisle toward her, wand poised in her direction, and she did nothing but stare expectantly.

"So much for constant," Theo spat his greeting with disgust. He drew up on the other side of the table from her just as she raised to her feet, his eyes darkened to indigo with something akin to betrayal.

"Now, since you are the brightest of our class, I'm giving you a chance to tell me why I shouldn't hex you at this very moment."

Hermione pursed her lips at the bitter taste of offense. "You're supposed to be bright yourself." Theo leveled the wand at her face. Hermione looked at him, her eyes flickering between his stormy ones and the tic in his jaw. She should have known that Draco's friend wouldn't stand for a perceived double-cross.

"Theo." Hermione stopped at his narrowed eyes. Her exhaled breath stirred the frizz on her cheeks before she started again. "Nott, when you try every possible way to solve a problem, what do you ultimately resort to? Finding a backdoor in."

Theo stared at her, wand still trained on her face. Hermione sighed again. It was an action that was becoming far too tedious.

Resignation laced her murmured confession. "I tried everything. If outright jealousy doesn't work then I don't know what I'll do."

At that Theo relaxed, his loose-limb posture becoming more recognizable to Hermione. His stare didn't waver though, as it penetrated its way clear to her soul.

He said, "No matter how many variables you change, you can't change the final answer Granger."

Hermione didn't hesitate in her response because she knew it made the difference in whether she'd have Theo's support. "I don't want to," she said slowly, honestly, "I'll take it the way it is. But even I have limitations."

Boundary line drawn in the proverbial sand, Theo and Hermione were staring at each other when the air behind him suddenly rippled, the illusion falling away like a cloak to reveal the dark, intimidating form of Blaise Zabini.

Hermione's jaw went slack from shock before she shook off the unwelcome feeling and reached for her wand on the table, holding it neutrally at her side for the time being. Despite both boys being Slytherins and both boys being Draco's friend, Hermione though that Theo, for some inexplicable reason, she could corroborate with; Blaise, on the other hand, emanated an implacability that seemed foolish to try and penetrate, which begged the question why he inserted himself into their little tete-a-tete.

"Your looks truly do you no justice, Granger." Blaise remarked tactlessly as he adjusted his perfectly-centered tie. He tilted his head rather regally to Theo, then, "Much more beneath that swotty surface of hers."

Hermione's grip tightened on her wand marginally. Ghosting her eyes right past the rude, dark-skinned git, she directed her next words to Theo, allowing her own betrayal to carry them. "What is this? Some sort of snakey initiation?"

Blaise snorted delicately, ever the aristocrat. "You wish."

An uncomfortable silence fell as the three students measured one another tensely, calculating the obvious missteps in this potential venture before continuing further.

As aware as Hermione was of Draco's close friendship with Blaise, she couldn't help but puzzle over why the boy- who didn't even attempt to mask his disdain at her presence- wanted to work with her to help Draco, for she wasn't so clueless as to deduce that Theo had been keeping Blaise up to speed with events. At least, it seemed as such when he broke the silence.

"We all are vying for the same answer," Blaise said this pointedly, although his face radiated humor at the double-speak, "and, in present circumstances, far be it from us to act pragmatically and aid you in this."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, skeptical. "You're snakes and do nothing for free. What's in it for you?"

The carefully constructed nonchalance in Blaise shuttered at her accusation-laced question with only the slight flare of his nostrils signifying his affront. His dark eyes bore into her, giving the impression of deep fathoms that she could only theorize ever reaching. Pulling her wand against her chest with a wrist flick away from hurtling a hex, Hermione tried to tamp down on the unease tickling her senses after Blaise's reaction.

Theo stepped slightly in front of his friend, to Hermione's enormous relief, and intervened. Softly, he admitted, "I think you know what's in it for us." He willed her to connect with his mesmerizing stare, the truth clear in his blue irises. "What do you need from us?"

Hermione pulled in a steadying breath at the offer. Unwillingly on her part, although it was rather fortuitous, Cormac had provided the perfect opening with which to push Draco. This, of course, had been her plan the minute the invitation fell into her lap. And, if her suspicions were correct, Hermione intended to push rather hard indeed- all the way up to the fated Christmas Party. Hopefully her faith in Draco was not horribly misplaced.

She looked briefly to Blaise and then back at Theo. "I've started the fire and have a plan to continue adding fuel. Just fan the flames."

oOo

~Nov 7

I feel incredibly foolish to be writing about this but at the moment, I seem to be a bit scarce with friends. Ron still isn't talking to me but that could be because his mouth is otherwise occupied. I never would have thought that Cormac McLaggen would ask me to the Christmas Party! When I received the invite, my first thought was to just go along with Harry since we couldn't go with who we each wanted to truly go with.

But, for some reason, Cormac chose me. I don't know what possibly could have caught his attention, other than my being the "Chosen One's" best friend; I do hope there's more reason than that. Of course, he did hand me a rose, which is obviously a sign of romance.

I certainly can appreciate a man who knows his flowers. I suppose I will just have to see if there's any romance in store.~

Draco slammed the journal shut, cursing creatively as he did so, just as Theo walked into the dormitory. His russet-haired friend chuckled as he dropped his bag onto his own desk.

"What did Arithmancy ever do to you?" he joked. Draco was nowhere near amused. In fact, he was so incensed that he felt it would be beyond satisfying to stalk down Granger and throw the twin journal in her face, if only to demand an explanation for the shite she just wrote in it.

 _Who could have thought McLoser would invite her to the Christmas Party?_ In Draco's mind, he believed she lowered herself considerably by accepting an invitation from the well-known degenerate, especially considering her wide-spread appeal among the Hogwarts boys at present.

"Fuck," Draco thrust the journal from his sight, temporarily ignoring Theo's penetrating stare.

"Fuck!" he repeated, shooting from his chair to pace the chamber. After a minute of the agitation pumping his legs back and forth, he halted in front of Theo and tried unsuccessfully to neutralize his voice.

"You see Granger every other day. What are you even talking about at these study sessions?"

Theo's face went preternaturally still for a moment before his eyes flicked over to Draco's desk. They narrowed, only just.

Paranoia flooded Draco's system but he knew he couldn't back off now; he already made a right arse of himself by even asking. Theo's eyes settled on Draco's face, although they seemed a bit unfocused.

"We just talk about the problems, mate." He paused, his focus snapping back in place. "You know, you should be keeping up with your studies. Why don't you come?"

Draco sighed impatiently and resumed pacing, energy building dangerously on the skin of his forearms.

The sensation was not pleasant on the Dark Mark. At all.

"She doesn't want me there," Draco finally confessed, realizing that he and Theo were far past pretense.

As Draco moved to his desk to fiddle with his wand and blow off the excess energy, he missed Theo's irritable retort. "How wrong you are about that."

Draco flicked his wand, levitating various items on his desk in a lazy circle, relieved at the energy pouring out of his system with such simple magic. His mind was not so easily assuaged, however, because it internally ran over the journal entry again, snagging like a hangnail on Granger's compliment of the git for knowing his flowers.

 _Is there anyone on this fucking planet that does not know what a rose means? Sweet Salazar, Granger, and you're supposed to be the smart one._

Suddenly, with his attention far strayed, his magic cut off and the objects fell to the floor with a shatter. Draco turned to Theo blankly who moved in with his own wand and a muttered "Reparo", fixing Draco's unexpected mess and then attempting to steer the stilted conversation in a different direction.

"Well, it's not a big fucking deal-" Draco thought sourly, _How wrong you are about that,_ "Come, don't come- whatever you want. Let's go to dinner," Theo trailed off as he moved to the door. When he looked back at his pale-haired friend, Draco shook his head slightly and sunk down into his desk chair where this whole mess of an evening began. Theo had left at his encouragement, a rarity for sure, although Draco was clueless as to what the solace would bring.

The journal entry came flitting back in like a fly that couldn't take a hint.

 _Since we couldn't go with who we each wanted to go with_

Perhaps madness is what the solace would bring.

Draco didn't have time for madness, though, as the sand in the symbolic hourglass timing his task was filling at a disquieting speed. He rummaged through his bottom desk drawer and unearthed an apple, still perfectly ripe. He glamoured the latest of his Father's text resources on the Cabinet and left with book, wand, and apple in hand.

Draco wandered the low-lit dungeon corridors, knowing a stairwell towards the back would allow him to bypass the rather busy main staircase on his way up to the Room, when he heard the clearing of a throat.

He turned to see the brooding gaze of his godfather. Snape stood in his customary robes with his arms crossed, pinning Draco with his stare. "Not hungry, Mr. Malfoy?" His question fell light but probing all the same; Draco stiffened- mostly at the formal use of his surname in such a private setting.

As uncharitable as he was feeling at the moment, Draco remained mute and simply held up the apple in his right hand.

Snape narrowed his eyes to black slits. "Pray tell, where are you off to? As Head of House, I'm sufficiently curious."

Draco's brows lifted in faux officiousness, "Not as godfather, then?"

The man's voice pitched in warning. "Draco."

Draco's face fell flat at his name although he remained stubbornly silent. As much as he admired Snape- for the man held an integral place in Draco's childhood- the man also was too tangled in the Dark Lord's inner circle and Draco wasn't willing to take any chances with trust, not when the glimmer of hope from his mother cast light on the chances for escape.

Restraining the desire to fidget, Draco blinked slowly at his Head of House, impatiently waiting for his dismissal.

However, Snape also seemed to be feeling uncharitable this evening as he continued the non-conversation. "You haven't visited me all year for Occlumency lessons, Draco. I assumed you would have realized the necessity, particularly at present, to keep up with the skill."

The mere mention of closing off his mind had the opposite effect on Draco as all at once, the plentiful and prohibited memories of Granger layered themselves one after another on the backdrop behind his eyelids with each flash of her smile causing a spasm in his stomach.

And each passion-filled tirade pounding like a drum in his temples.

And every torturous second of hands-on-skin and lips-on-lips tightening his groin shamefully.

Draco puffed out a breath, squared his gaze on his godfather, and blatantly lied. "I've learned the skill well enough."

Silence ticked out unbearably. Then, after a minute or maybe five, Snape glided in front of Draco with his gaze forever frozen on the blond's emotionless mask.

"Oh?" Snape said softly and before Draco could discern the challenge in the word, his arse-of-a-godfather invaded his mind. Draco mentally watched him flit from passage to passage as Draco chased Snape's wandering consciousness, trying to slam a wall down in front of the particularly intimate moments.

 _He and Granger in her living room, gripped together as the Dark Mark burned… I don't think so, fucker._

Snape rerouted and probed deeper, to the incriminating moments.

 _Granger goading Draco for answers in the darkened classroom, using her day of honesty as leverage… Not for all the gold in Gringotts._

Then, the traitorous bastard stumbled headlong into the incendiary moments.

 _Granger straddling his lap as they groan in unison at the contact…_

"Stop!" Draco yelled, his eyes shooting open to see Snape retreat back a step at the force of Draco's counter. His breath was heaving after the effort exerted to force his godfather out of his thoughts, his secrets that damned him at the same time as they absolved.

As Draco came back under control, he surveyed Snape and was surprised to notice a crack in the man's facade; although his face maintained all its broodiness, his dark eyes appraised Draco openly with a mixture of fear and perhaps bitterness?

Snape whispered fiercely, "You're playing a dangerous game."

Draco shook his head slowly, dislodging the truth. "It's not a game."

The fear all but vanished from his black irises, giving way for the bitterness to flood his face and voice.

"Then it's all the more dangerous."

 _As if I didn't fucking know that._

Draco ignored the utterly mystifying display of emotion by his godfather and quickly cast a tempus charm, becoming irritated by how much time he wasted with Snape.

 _Not to mention my cover being blown… by Snape._

Draco looked to him then and said with all the respect he could muster for the ass who invaded his mind, "I really need to get going, Professor."

Then he turned and rushed off, with Snape's parting comment ringing in his ears… _"Such games did not end well for me, Draco_."

Draco traversed the rest of the way to the 7th corridor without incident even though the uneasiness wrought by his conversation with Snape had his skin prickling. Closing his eyes, he refocused as he paced back and forth, successfully conjuring the massive entrance.

He couldn't help but take a moment every time to marvel at the intricacy of the metal, bent against its will, to form these impressive doors… an entrance to somewhere new.

Draco shook his head clear. He didn't have time for sentimentality and so he slipped through the beautiful threshold and moved on, finding the Cabinet unchanged since his last visit.

The same could be said about the two chairs he and Granger occupied as Draco couldn't bring himself to have moved them. He sat in his now and stared at the Cabinet, half wondering if he was wasting his rather limited time trying to repair it and half reminiscing on the memory Snape shook loose earlier in the evening.

Granger was straddling him and even though they were blissfully bare from the waist up, save for her bra, it hadn't been enough. He wanted to press himself head-to-toe, skin-to-skin against her and even now, outside the heat of the moment, it wouldn't be enough. Ever. Granger was seeping into his system the way cream colors coffee. Inexorably.

And he had no fucking clue what to do about it.

 _It would be a better use of my limited time, however._

Disgusted at himself Draco refocused- again- and placed the apple he brought with him into the Cabinet. He flipped through the book his father had lent, contemplating on the idea that struck him as Snape rummaged through his mind as if it were a clothes drawer. The memories rippled onto his consciousness, each one overlapping like pages in a book, building a clearer and stronger picture.

Draco never thought to try that with the Cabinet; he only assumed there would be a single spell to fix the damage. However, weeks of no success with that method propelled him to try a more involved conglomerate of spellwork.

Having now found the first of the spells earmarked in the book, Draco wielded his wand on the imposing piece of furniture and muttered a scrap of Latin that was meant to activate the magic of the Cabinet.

It stood on just the same. He flipped through the book to a second earmarked page, detailing a rather archaic incantation on channeling magic. Closing his eyes, Draco cleared the anxiety and unanswered questions from the forefront of his mind and visualized the Cabinet, bringing into focus the energy he could hear humming through its wood.

Softly, respectfully, he intoned another spell of ancient Latin and then froze as he saw the spiral of energy deliberately gathering into the Cabinet's core.

Draco wasted no time, fearful as he was with the progress thus far just dissipating away, and cast the charm that he muttered and pleaded and cursed at the Cabinet hundreds of times before that evening.

He heard a faint pop in the bowels of the wood, reminiscent of apparition, and so he gripped the solid door handle and eased it open to find the apple gone.

Draco did it. He succeeded at last in sending an inanimate object between the Cabinets; now he could write his Father with the instructions on how the receiving party could send it back to confirm its functionality.

Draco fell into a crouch as he stared aimlessly at the now partly-demystified piece of furniture. Nothing remotely close to relief rolled through him at the knowledge.

In contrast, a pervasive sort of disconsolation threaded through Draco, weighing down his already dejected mood. The ironic juxtaposition of Granger splayed across his mind spurning this epiphany-turned-success was not lost on him either.

 _It's amazing how threat of imminent death has a way of snuffing the joy out of everything._

oOo

~Nov 21

These past few weeks have been rather a whirlwind. This weekend is the last trip to Hogsmeade for the term and Ginny is insistent we use the day to find dresses for Slughorn's party. I don't know how to possibly adorn myself for this event without coming up completely inadequate. My hair will ruin anything I pair it with.

The closer I get to the party, the more anxious I become to be on Cormac's arm. His perfectly groomed appearance will only throw me in sharp relief and although I usually don't natter on about vanity, I do wish to look good. For him.

I am grateful during the times that Cormac and I have spent together that he's been very complimentary, as if it doesn't matter that I'm a bushy-haired muggleborn.

Ron has taken to talking to me again, if only to warn me off Cormac. He believes him to be too aggressive but I imagine that his dislike also stems from Quidditch tryouts. If only Ron knew I confunded Cormac so that he could remain on the team! I suppose that's our little secret now.

Gah. Ginny is harassing me about dress designs. I suppose I should go, if only because it's evident to anyone and everyone that I will need all the help I can get. Merlin save me.~

Draco's pointer finger drew idle circles on top of the journal that masqueraded as a textbook. Even the latecomers to breakfast were clearing their plates quickly and heading to class on the Friday before the final Hogsmeade visit before holiday break.

Draco promised to go with Pansy for this one.

His finger traced a well-worn path on the cover. Neither of them had any shopping to do for the Party only a week away. The Party which everyone was talking about. The Party for which Granger seemed willing to offer herself up like some yuletide cracker.

His hand fell still. The letters from his father were also tucked away in the illicit pages of the journal. The last, after Draco reported the Cabinet's progression, nearly embarrassed Draco with the praise that oozed from it.

 _Father's not very good at the positive emotions. Has the negative ones down pat, though._

Regardless, the task finally had some momentum, bringing his full conversion to the psychopath's side ever closer.

And sending Granger ever farther.

 _Perhaps it's time to dispose of the journal._

Depressed, Draco glanced up and found the Hall nearly bereft of students which signaled the start of first period. Advanced Potions. No fucking chance in all of Britain of him showing up late to that class.

Despite the lung-biting cold, Draco decided he would venture outside and try to clear the melancholy from his head with a bracing walk near the edge of the Forest.

The grounds stood quiet in the early morning air with the last of the grass shimmering silver in the cold. As Draco breathed in he could pick up on the dominant woodiness of pine saturating the Scottish glen, along with the clean bite of the undisturbed waters of the Lake. He meandered his way along its shore, relieved that the peaceful atmosphere of the grounds had seeped into his skin and proved as effective on his mind.

Draco's feet eventually toed the edge of the Forest. He hadn't entered the place since his detention in 1st year with the Golden Trio as the place left a lasting impression on his young, cowardly soul. His older, still cowardly soul peered into the dark maze of gnarled branches, most now divested of their leaves. The dark color of the branches, twisted in some elemental dance, reminded him of Granger's hair.

 _My hair will ruin anything I pair it with._

For a moment, he felt uninhibited enough to be regretful for every time he picked on her hair, as it was the only piece of her that defied her carefully construed rules.

As Draco made to move past both the thoughts and the Forest edge, thinking that a couple hard laps around the Quidditch pitch wouldn't go amiss, he was stalled by a faint but distinctly musical humming coming from somewhere nearby.

It carried the memory of Granger's lilting voice atop its melody.

Illogically, Draco followed it and as he weaved his way along a well-treaded path into the Forest, his heart picked up speed in anticipation. He idly hoped that he would find Miss rule-follower spending the morning much like he, if only so he could scoff at her for thinking she needed to measure up to Cormac.

After a few minutes of walking, the path opened up to a sparsely treed area although the pines encircling the space were still too dense to allow much filtered sun through. The lack of light didn't seem to matter, however, as an explosion of pastel colors stood alone in the center of the clearing, facing away from Draco.

Even if her monstrous clothing choices didn't give her away, he would have instantly known who she was by the corn silk tresses flowing halfway down her back.

"Loony Lovegood?" he said disbelievingly, stopping about three meters from where she stood- looking exactly what her moniker suggests as she clutched a piece of raw meat.

She stretched out the hand that held the meat which quickly disappeared. "Hello, Draco."

He reacted to her familiarity with a sneer. "Since when are we on a first name basis?"

"Since you chose to use the nickname," she replied matter-of-factly as her hand petted the empty air. She started to hum the silly little tune that caught his attention in the first place and then moved away to a new area of the clearing which still appeared empty to Draco's eyes.

Despite the disappointment now buzzing in his blood, he mirrored her walk, simultaneously grudgingly curious at her presence as well as reluctantly lonely in his self-imposed isolation.

"Why aren't you in class?" he asked after a while. She was digging through a grotesque dragonhide satchel thrown over her shoulder before pulling out an apple.

"I find the traditional system of education to be too confining and sometimes require a chance to think outside the walls, as it were." She made a soft clicking sound with her tongue then rolled the apple across the ground where it lay, undisturbed.

Turning slightly toward Draco, she revealed a dreamy smile and knowing glint in her slate-colored eyes. "Plus, I had a free period."

Draco's lips twitched at her cheek. But just barely.

Lovegood reached into the satchel again, finding a smallish piece of meat to gently lob toward the apple. This, to Draco's notice, was gobbled up with fervor.

"You're feeding thestrals," he stated in a slight tone of disgust; watching her handle the raw meat made his skin crawl a bit, not to mention the undivided care she focused on the creatures. "Why?"

She shifted her focus away from the invisible beasts and turned the force of her big, curious, gray eyes on him; Draco almost felt the need to step back in caution from the wisdom in them.

"Why not?" she countered, although it lacked any heat. "I know that they carry a stigma because of their connection to death. What I don't know is why that causes people to shirk from them when, if one looked past the surface, one would find something gentle and beautiful underneath."

Her eyes pierced him with their sincerity, the many meanings of her words swirling in their depths until it all became too uncomfortable.

Breaking eye contact, Draco scoffed a 'whatever' and brushed past her, thinking that being caught by a Professor after skiving off classes would be preferable to Loony's ramblings.

 _I might be loony myself thinking it was possibly Granger in the first place. She's probably too occupied worrying over what dress would look good for McLoser._

Unfortunately for Draco, Lovegood ended up falling in step beside him as he maneuvered back down the path that led to the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest. She had started the infernal humming again that now that Draco heard it up close, knew he was foolish to mistake her whimsical, airy notes for Granger's earth-trembling ones.

As they approached the edge that opened back onto the grounds, Draco fingered his wand in his robe with the intention of casting a Disillusionment charm and slip past Lovegood but she stalled him.

"I think the same could be said about more than just thestrals," she remarked, breathing the thought into existence as if it didn't hold the potential to destroy him.

"What would you know," he snapped before wordlessly casting the charm and moving to put endless distance between himself and this batty, dangerous girl.

As he hastened across the dry, curled-up grass he heard her final words shudder over him. "Not much, I suppose."

oOo

"Oh, Hermione. That dress is perfect!" Ginny exclaimed as Hermione did a prim twirl in front of the mirror of Gladrags Wizardwear. Luna sat on a chaise diagonal from Hermione, a lilac bell-shaped confection thrown over the arm; the blonde Ravenclaw had chosen her dress in the first five minutes of entering the store.

 _Brat._ Hermione pursed her lips at her 6th choice. The magenta satin midi hugged her form but in a modest way that Hermione could appreciate. She bit her lip, agonized. As much as she wanted to be demurely wrapped for McLaggen, her eventual hope was to confront Draco and not a single dress she tried on gave her an ounce of confidence to do so.

"Ughh," she groaned before disappearing behind the changing curtain. She stripped out of the dress and threw it atop a frustratingly growing pile of rejects. As she slipped into a robe to be decent to search for more prospects, she heard Luna's voice.

"Perhaps you need a departure from House colors. All of your choices so far have been variations of red." Looking down at the pile, Hermione saw that the witch was right.

She emerged from the changing space, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "What do you have in mind," Hermione asked her flighty friend.

Muttering under her breath Luna twirled her wand in hand, emitting large luminous bubbles on every clockwise turn.

"I'm sure you'll know it when you see it," she responded conversationally.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Luna for a moment before turning to head back to the main area. As much as she's come to enjoy the girl's presence, especially after her fearlessness during the Ministry attack, Hermione felt perpetually aggravated that she couldn't truly figure the girl out.

Hermione fingered a few dresses, now that her selection has unconsciously widened. She vetoed a provocative black one with a slit up one side and winced at an aquamarine overblown ball gown.

 _Did Luna have a hidden meaning to her comment? It's like she knows only how to speak in riddles and I can't help but doubt her look of innocence…_

Hermione's hands froze in their flurried flipping through the rack. A holly-green dress with a plunging V-neck rested hidden between two garish pastel ones. The skirt portion looked to be an A-line and presumably would stop just below her knees. Hermione swooped the gown off the rack and slightly gasped as the movement revealed the shifting hues hidden in the threads.

Much like the holly leaf that the deep green color suggests, when Hermione moved it just so the green shimmered silver like the delicate underside of the foliage. She didn't even need to try it on but she would, if only to imagine Draco's face once he saw her in it.

Sliding back into the private area that was designated for changing, Hermione took the dress without a word behind the curtained section she was using before. She stripped yet again and then slid the silky gown over her body which burned hot from the guilt that she unwittingly chose Slytherin colors. The fabric settled over her frame, catching alluringly on her waist and across her chest with the low cut highlighting the barest hint of cleavage.

After a fortified breath for courage, Hermione stepped out to the seating area and anxiously awaited her friends' opinions.

Ginny did not hold back.

"Merlin, Hermione!" The redhead's eyes went wide as Hermione twirled again in front of the mirror. "That's quite a dress! Although the green color goes fabulously with your hair and skin tone, I feel a bit betrayed. Must you settle for Slytherin colors?"

Ginny's nose delicately scrunched with derision, as if the decision didn't just sound bad but smelled bad as well.

Luna's eyes caught Hermione's in the mirror, twinkling almost mischievously. "I think green suits you very well."

The burn reignited over her body, its heat like an itch that no amount of scratching could soothe, but this time the uncomfortable sensation didn't stem from guilt.

 _Very tricky, Luna. Perhaps you should be living among the snakes._

Now that the three girls were happy with their dress decisions, Hermione disappeared back behind the curtain to change so their purchases could be made. She also required the solace to attempt to quell the lustful wanderings of her thoughts, something that became harder with every day that separated the present time from her passionate afternoon with Draco.

That time with him had been earth shattering on so many levels; despite his constant and vocal unwillingness, Draco divulged things in that messy, cavernous room that had altered Hermione's thinking.

All the assumptions… the conflicted feelings and illogical pieces of the puzzle… they fell into place that day and revealed a beautiful, fiercely complex, and altogether aggravating picture of Draco.

The physical contact only further entrenched her. She had limited experience with kissing but the feel of Draco's lips on hers vibrated deep. Right into her bones. _It hadn't been enough._

The vibrations dissipated, as vibrations tend to do, and now all the distance between them only amplified empty space- hands devoid of skin and lips robbed of his and her bones, bereft. Still as death.

The breath rattled out of Hermione on a loud sigh.

Ginny's voice filtered in on a wave of impatience. "Hermione, are you ready?"

The bushy-haired witch wiped her face clear of emotion and then joined her friends who were already moving to the front to pay for their items.

As alarming as her thoughts had become about Draco, she couldn't find the energy any longer to care about their impudence, as it seemed that all of it was being used up on wanting him.

She handed over her galleons last and then stepped out of the shop into the bitter cold behind her friends, pausing in the middle of the snow-covered street when she saw him.

Draco Malfoy. Prat extraordinaire. And with Pansy Parkinson hanging off his arm like some gaudy Christmas tree ornament. Blaise lurked slightly behind, on the other side of Draco, and as he caught eyes with Hermione he shook his head minutely.

Still, the wordless admonition couldn't motivate her limbs to move in the direction Ginny and Luna were heading; her eyes, likely overflowing from unrequited yearning, remained fastened on that bastard's lithe stylish form as he escorted Pansy down the main strip toward Honeyduke's.

Hermione's ceaseless staring eventually drew his attention. Right in the middle of Pansy's chattering, his stoic, stone-colored eyes lifted to hers as if he knew she would be standing there, stroking her as effectively as his hands and in that moment, Hermione's heart lodged in her throat ready to tumble out with the messy, incriminating truth.

 _I need to move. Now._

Hermione forced her eyes down to the ground, staring daggers at her recalcitrant feet, before her blessed, blessed friends backtracked to grab her by the arms and lead her away.

Away from Draco and his apparent new flame. She wondered idly as they pulled her in the wrong direction, if perhaps she was just wasting her precious time.

 _"It's working, Granger. I don't know what bloody magic you're doing behind the scenes but trust us when we say he's an utter wreck."_

Theo's most recent piece of encouragement buzzed in Hermione's ears. She threw an indiscreet look over her shoulder and found Draco's eyes still pinned on her.

She supposed she could keep to the plan a touch longer.

"Why would that filthy mudblood be staring at you, Draco?" Pansy's hissed question seared the shell of his ear, jolting the statue-still Slytherin back into motion.

 _One step…_ He turned his eyes away from Granger before they gave anything away. Focusing back on Pansy- _two steps_ \- he just tempered the all-consuming rage of her using the slur before responding curtly, "I could care less at what she finds interesting."

 _Especially if it's Cormac-fucking-McLaggen._

 _Three steps…_ Blaise skimmed past his friends, his shoulder connecting softly with Draco's in warning. A lightning bolt loaded with caution. _Four steps…_

"Let's go Pans," he said firmly, tugging her arm toward Honeyduke's as he counted _five, six, seven steps…_ away from Granger and her too-good friends and overemotional eyes and a dress wrapped up in plastic. A dress meant for another guy.

The brunette capitulated to his overbearing attitude although the sulk creasing her features made Draco feel homicidal.

 _Eight steps… nine steps… never enough steps._


	23. Yours and Mine

**A/N: So the bleeding (aka-writing) has been staunched as of late. I've definitely hit a wall in the story where I am totally uninspired by any assemblage of words I write down. This has led to a one-shot as an attempt to break through my writer's block that I will post before leaving for Scotland/Ireland at the end of September. With that said, enjoy the culmination of what's been a slow burn for my favorite pairing!**

* * *

 **Yours and Mine**

* * *

" _How we going to breathe?_

 _How we going to be together?_

 _Just keeping the peace between the sheets…" Move Together by James Bay_

~Nov 29

It's become difficult to know what to say here, as if the solace found from a non-judging, mute presence has eroded away to something lacking. Whatever opinionated voice that existed in my life has gone out to lunch, so to speak. Ron's tirades have since stopped as his extra-curricular activities with Lavender have become more… involved. Harry, damn the boy, has not said anything one way or the other on the matter and considering their vehemence on my going with Viktor Krum to the Yule Ball, I expected more.

Ah, well. I suppose it doesn't much matter with one day separating all the preparations from the actual event. I found a dress with Ginny and Luna and it's absolutely, unexpectedly perfect. Luna provided some well-timed advice that led me to this dress and although I doubt her motives, I am grateful that it led me to this one.

Even as the Party signifies the imminent end of term, I can't help but feel bittersweet about the whole thing. I shall be going home to my parents for a spell and although talk of Hogwarts and magic no longer really interest them, the weight of the secrets I carry are still burdensome. Magic or no, they would not appreciate the idea that their daughter is in danger.

Thankfully, I will spend the latter half of the holiday at the Weasley's where things will feel as close to normal as can be in times like these. I imagine it's something I should strive to remind myself of… that from now on, all those little moments of happiness need to be savored, captured as a light of hope against the dark times ahead.~

Draco survived exactly 21 minutes after Blaise left for Slughorn's party before he surrendered to his baser instincts and left to prowl the perimeter of the gathering. His school robes lay crumpled on his bed, awaiting the laundry, but he didn't think he could even adorn freshly-pressed ones in his venture out.

His skin confined him like a net, trapping the multitude of feelings like butterflies, beating madly, endlessly in his blood.

No, robes were superfluous to say the least.

The common room was alive with the unbridled relief that comes with the end of term and impending holiday. Most Slytherins roamed the space in little packs, allowing pretense to slip- if only for the evening- as younger and upper years commiserated openly.

Draco eyed a group of 6th and 7th years in the corner near the lakeview window. They had already cracked open the firewhisky and were passing it around. Theo looked up from a conversation he was having with Flint; he instantly snagged Draco's wandering eyes and raised his brows questioningly.

For a second, Draco felt the agony spasm across his face. Then he turned to leave the common room so that he could get lost in the criss-crossing paths of the dungeons, hoping that Theo was not a very observant snake.

"Drake!"

 _Why is it that I'm always wrong?_

He ignored his friend's call and disappeared into the dark. The bare stone walls and deserted expanse of the dungeon corridors suited Draco just fine; after the past 6 months he endured, he found himself aching for the simplicity of open space- as deep and as wide as the sky.

 _All those little moments of happiness need to be savored, captured as a light of hope against the dark times ahead._

Unfortunately for him, the space he desired never stayed empty for long. Granger now tainted everything in his life, burrowing into spaces of his identity that he long thought fulfilled, that he didn't even realize existed. He couldn't escape it; a stronger man might have tried but Draco had come to terms with his less amenable qualities long ago.

His body froze at the revelation. Immediately, Draco doubled back to the corridor with the rarely-traveled stairs leading up.

Up to the area of Slughorn's party. Up to her.

The corridors leading toward the party turned ever more festive as Draco spotted large, luminous orbs of light floating lazily by the ceiling which was swathed in almost translucent, shimminger fabric of pinks and golds.

 _Theo was right. Hoity-toity, indeed._

Evergreen garland threaded through the wall sconces and scented the hallways with its earthy, crisp aroma.

Desire sliced through him, visceral in its intensity. Still, Draco slowed his pace as the sound of the party grew closer; music, laughter, and elated talking trickled out from a room tucked behind the turn. Over the convivial rumble, however, Draco's concentration caught on a noise closer to him, a murmuring cradled in the dim antechamber outside of the festivities.

"There you are," the voice purred. Draco felt the intention in that tone, the vulgarity of it raising the hair on the back of his neck.

"You've been quite the minx playing all this hard-to-get but you know I'm a keeper. I catch everything in the end." The frantic rustling of bodies thrust Draco into action because even without seeing, he knew who was beyond the last turn in the corridor.

"Cormac… I really just wanted some air- " Draco heard the soft smack of flesh against stone as he whipped around the corner. "Please, no, Cormac this isn't- "

And then the words were crushed in the space between McLaggen's lips on Hermione's.

And then Draco saw red.

He stalked over to them, possessiveness burning like fiendfyre in his blood as he roughly pulled at McLaggen's shoulder to disengage him. The bloke staggered back a foot although his hands still fisted the hem on Hermione's dress.

 _Hermione._ Draco couldn't even look at her; otherwise he'd end up in Azkaban for the crimes he'd commit against this Gryffindor shite.

"Oi, Malfoy! Find your own bird, would you?" McLaggen leered once he got his bearings. The massive Quidditch player shook out his dress robes before zoning back in on Granger, the lust lighting his eyes eerily.

 _Granger. She's Granger again. That must be a good sign._ The rage had plateaued under Draco's skin but was still desperate for an outlet. Although Draco's wand sat snug in his back pocket, he wedged himself between the two using the force of his broom-riding thighs to break the contact of McLaggen's hands on Granger. The satin ribbon edging of the dress ripped as McLaggen stubbornly held fast; Granger gasped with dismay and Draco breathed it in like fuel.

"I have found one," he said softly, eyes clashing with McLaggen's in unadulterated sincerity. At that, McLaggen's face turned ugly, his lips pulled back across white teeth clenched in a snarl. He stepped up to Draco, having a couple inches even on Draco's tall form, and hissed, "What are you going to do? You have no wand."

The git's eyes traced Draco from head-to-toe for confirmation and then leaned back slightly on his heels, lips pursing with displeasure like he found the Slytherin lacking.

Draco's fingertips were pulsing from the consolidation of his fury.

"I don't need a wand." Then he swiftly kneed McLaggen in the groin. The ass curled in on himself, gasping for breath from the unexpected pain, and so Draco reared back and punched McLaggen right in the ear.

Nothing felt better than the crunching of bones under rage-driven fingers.

Blood flowed steadily through the fingers that McLaggen brought up to cradle the side of his face, which still looked down to the ground in what Draco hoped was intense pain. As he scanned the hopeless git for additional vulnerable anatomy, Draco missed the whoosh of movement behind him, only becoming distracted when a vision of green stood opposite, sandwiching McLaggen between them.

Of all the emotions he expected to see painted on her face, he never would have guessed to find irritation.

Crossing her arms Granger glared at him and scolded, "So you don't need a wand to deal with cads but I do? Insufferable!"

Her atypically-tamed curls sat tangled and askew on the side of her head with silver clips dangling from the ends and although her face was carved with ire, a flash of vulnerability colored her eyes amber before they looked away from Draco and to McLaggen.

Granger curled her hand around her back awkwardly and unsheathed her wand. She took a moment to look sharply at Draco before proceeding to ruin his fun.

"Incarcerous," she murmured as she flicked the gleaming vinewood in McLaggen's direction. Chains twined around him until they were so tight, he collapsed to his back on the floor. Granger then levitated him to a corner of the corridor and crouched so she could speak to him square in the face.

Her housemate. Her attacker. This slimy assaulter. Draco couldn't remember the last time he was so mesmerized.

"You listen to me, Cormac McLaggen. When a female says no, they mean no. And if I hear you ever forget that sacred rule again, I'll scar assaulter across your forehead. Remember Marietta?" A pregnant pause, then, "I'll also hex off your manly bits for good measure."

Granger straightened and took a step back, coming even with Draco. Although her eyes remained fixed on the heaving, blood-covered mess on the floor, Draco caught the barest of nods as if she was giving permission.

He stepped up, altogether eager and vexed. Internally, his ego sulked over the beautiful, overbearing brat ruining what was shaping up to be a completely satisfactory beating. But he supposed that he had other ways to be spending the evening now.

Pulling his wand from the back of his trousers, Draco turned considering eyes on the object of his now cooling rage before throwing his left arm out and having his wand tip collide with McLaggen's forehead, hard enough to bruise.

Lacking the courtesy of Granger, he remained standing. "You heard the lady," Draco said cooly, the edges of his words coated in ice, "I expect you'll keep this whole encounter under wraps as well. Your reputation couldn't stand the blow of a female bringing you to your knees… at least like this."

Draco smirked cruelly, cast a wordless Stupefy, and then released breath that he didn't even realize had backed into his lungs. Granger's steady hand slipped into his.

He removed the Incarcerous that she cast before pulling her down the corridor, away from the party and festive lighting, back to the dimly-lit twisting staircase and corridors until they stood outside that innocuous stretch of wall on the 7th floor.

Granger stood still as Draco paced, his mind conjuring a picture of what he wanted on the other side of the wall. After his third lap, a modest wooden door appeared in the wall. He opened it and walked inside without an ounce of propriety, consumed by the nerves fluttering in his system.

He knew Granger would follow, if only for curiosity's sake.

He was pleased by the Room's manifestation. The predominantly white bedroom was filled with matching dark furniture. A chest of drawers and the bed stood against the left wall, the mattress covered with super-fine sheets and gray, woolen blankets. Draco walked over to the writing desk situated across the room from the bed, smirking inwardly at the two armchairs and ceiling-high bookcase in the corner by the door. He placed his hawthorn on the desk, spending an inordinate amount of time to align it perfectly perpendicular, before he finally heard the soft snick of the door.

Turning slightly, Draco watched as her eyes danced around the room, shifting in color from chocolatey confusion to amber-glossy anxiety. Then, they landed on the bookcase flanked by chairs and the subtlest shift- something Draco wouldn't have seen if he wasn't looking for it- softened her stance.

She moved to the chest of drawers where a large oval mirror hung and Draco, now feeling as if his entire body reduced itself to one overactive nerve, started unbuttoning the sleeves of his Oxford for something to do.

"You ruined my fun, you know," he noted as he rolled the right sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow. His hand paused on the left and he watched as her eyes dipped unabashedly to his movements.

She then focused on her reflection in the mirror, placing down her own wand before gently working the small clips from her tangled hair. "Oh really," Granger replied. Her eyes didn't waver as she inquired lightly, "What's with the bedroom?"

As she spoke, Draco had finished rolling his sleeve and since divested himself of the black vest that kept him warm during the cold, winter months. Some hopeful, irrational part of his brain was telling him he wouldn't need it. He slowly ambled to stand behind Granger, never once removing his stare from her reflection, never once doubting the irrevocable step he would take tonight.

In this room. With this girl. _Hermione._

Draco lifted a trembling hand to a wide, smooth curl. "Don't do this again. With your hair," he said and then tugged lightly. She sucked air between just parted lips.

"Do what?"

Unwavering eyes, then, "Tame it."

Draco swept the shining mass aside and revealed part of a bare, freckled shoulder. Without thought, he dropped a kiss on the skin, sweeping his tongue lightly under the dress fabric.

Granger barely whispered, "Why not?"

He started a trail of kisses from the tender curve of her neck meeting torso until he gripped the shell of her ear between his teeth. Finally breaking eye contact he whispered, "Because it's the truest part of you. Deep down- past the knee-jerk reaction to please everyone and the childhood lessons of following rules- deep down there lies a lioness. Wild. Unwilling to abide what is forced upon it."

His tongue swirled along the curve of her ear and as she shuddered, it rocked through him.

Granger cut his ministrations short as she separated herself from him, turning so their eyes could clash unimpeded.

She persisted, "Why the bedroom, Draco?"

Clenching his jaw, Draco put even more distance between them, sinking to sit on the mattress with his arms propped on his thighs. He hoped he would have been able to woo Granger into a state of delicious, desire-driven delusion before she shot off questions.

"I wanted to pick up where we left off," he started but the annoying witch interjected.

"We?"

He cursed under his breath. "Yes, we. You," he pointed at her with an impatient look on his face, "and me," jabbing his own chest extra hard.

 _Would it kill her to just skip to the kissing?_

"It looked like you moved past that after you told me very adamantly there was no 'we'." She crossed her arms almost protectively and prompted, "Pansy?"

 _Apparently it would kill her. Bloody emotional Gryffindors._

Disgusted, Draco retorted sharply. "Pansy's nothing… and it looked like you move past it first." He dropped his head into his hands, pulling hard at the roots in hopes of counteracting the headache making home in his mind. Stormy eyes finding purchase on the floor, Draco found his tongue now more cooperative in forming the right words.

"Listen, Granger. I'm not here to fight, okay? I want- "

 _To kiss you. To touch you. To shag you until you can't feel your bones._

He cleared his throat. Tried again. "I want- "

 _To talk to you. Argue with you. Look at your constantly changing face until I've cleansed you from my blood._

Hands raked through already-tousled locks as Draco jerked his head up and made eye contact with a patiently waiting Granger.

"Fuck. I want we." He inwardly cringed at his lack of articulation. "Us. I want us."

Something seemed to break inside of Granger as she stumbled toward him, relief and hunger unclouded in her eyes. When she reached Draco she grasped his hands, entwining them.

Binding them.

"Truth?" she murmured.

He looked to her and succumbed. "Truth."

Her lips fell to his. Firewhisky couldn't hold a candle to the drunkenness that stole over his limbs with that first contact of lips. Draco wrapped his arms around Granger's waist as his body descended to the mattress. Her body came freely, pressing against Draco's like it was a safe place to fall, and as the kiss turned hot he couldn't help but be spurred on by that thought.

Their tongues tangled, reacquainting themselves like friends too long separated. The contact turned Draco's brain fuzzy, the only thought pulsing through his mind being _more, more, more…_

Using his upper body, Draco lifted himself and Granger into a vertical position and then pulled away from the haven of her lips. He reached for the buttons of his Oxford and watched her eyes nearly melt to liquid honey with every button he undid.

Soon his chest came into view and Granger took over. She pushed the fabric from his shoulders and then threw it towards the floor. Her hands, trembling, hovered just above his skin and the lust that shook them was electrifying, prickling the surface. Impatient, Draco fell back to the mattress and used his knees to nudge Granger forward until her hands made contact to brace his chest.

She molded to the muscles of his pecs and sketched lazy circles across all the exposed skin until he thought he would go wild from the gentleness. Inching closer until her lips floated in the humid air above his mouth, she spoke playfully, "I think you're at a disadvantage, Malfoy." Then the comfortable weight of her body disappeared.

Granger stood, looking at him, flushed all over and breathing like she sprinted half the staircases of Hogwarts. Draco knew then that under all that fervent lust pouring from her lips was the shy innocence of a virgin; so when he propped himself up on his elbows to peruse her body, he allowed the smallest of smiles to grace his lips in encouragement.

A matching one graced her face briefly before she dropped her eyes and reached behind her neck to unfasten the clasp holding the dress up.

Granger looked through her lashes then dropped her dress.

Draco's mouth went dry. The green satin pooled at her feet, revealing flawless bronze skin interrupted only by a black bra and knickers, lace flirting with the edges of those secret places only Granger has seen.

 _And soon to be only Granger and I have seen._

He swallowed. Hard. Then Draco stood so that he could be even with her, learning the subtle swells and valleys of her skin. He reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, pausing to look in her eyes with his unvoiced question.

She smiled tremulously but he refused to move. Only when her eyes sparked impatiently and she nodded did Draco release the scrap of satin and lace.

He made an inarticulate noise in his throat by way of approval before he cupped her breasts. An unrestrained moan fell from Granger's lips and suddenly, Draco's trousers had become unbearably tight.

He swung her around and backed her towards the bed, kneading the globes and tweaking her nipples, until she fell back onto the soft net of comforters writhing from the sensation.

In that moment, Granger's desire roared louder than his demons.

It became imperative that he feel every inch of her body in his hunt to grasp hold of whatever unidentifiable emotion she stirred in him. Abruptly Draco unbuckled his trousers and shucked them with his pants before climbing atop Granger and kissing the apprehension right out of her eyes.

Their lips fused. Draco could taste her in the back of his throat, the sweet citrus flavor going down like a fine wine and making him just as drunk.

His hands played with the sides of her hips, his fingers dipping knuckle-deep under the elastic of her knickers. One finger brushed the sensitive skin near her core.

Granger broke the kiss. "Draco."

He opened his eyes lazily, his gaze only sharpening when he saw the serious brown staring back at him. The silence was charged with unfulfilled desire, heavy with the unanswered questions lurking in Granger's eyes, so that Draco entertained for a moment just stopping entirely. But then she brought her hand up to play with the fringe of his hair, delicate caresses imparting her consent.

Draco's hands coasted up the soft skin of her sides, skimming her breasts as they moved up her chest and collarbone, until they were holding her cheeks firmly. To him, in that moment, Granger felt like flying, she tasted like summer, and with Draco's head already feeling like it was underwater he decided to just plunge deeper.

"Yes, Hermione." _Yes to every question that could possibly plague that overactive mind._ Then he resumed the kiss, turning it demanding and distracting until Granger was so wild with want she begged, "Please."

Draco hoisted himself onto his knees and very slowly removed her soaked knickers. One of his fingers ran through her folds, the warmth and wetness there making him groan.

"Merlin, Granger." He found her clit and started swirling tight little circles around the bud, mesmerized at the way Granger threw all inhibitions to the side and exposed herself… hips rocking to the tempo he set by his finger until she was just… at the… edge…

Draco entered her on one sure thrust. He opened eyes he didn't realize fell closed and noticed the slight stiffening of her body. Granger felt amazing to him but he didn't want to press further. Those familiar multi-hued eyes found his, the emotion there too intense, but the deliberate clash of her warm brown and his quicksilver gray melted the tension right out of the air.

She reached for his hand, pulsed acceptance along his nerves. Draco started to pump in and out unhurriedly, watching how he disappeared into her and finding it the most seductive thing he'd seen in his life.

He bolstered his weight on his right forearm and brought his left hand back to her clit, rolling it between his fingers as he set an abiding rhythm. Granger's eyes rolled back into her head but Draco's flashing silver remained fastened on her face, wanting desperately to see her crest.

A few seconds later, he got his wish as Granger's back bowed off the bed and the breath shuddered out of her like a prayer, disturbing the locks of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

Draco groaned as he- one, two, three thrusts- followed her into oblivion.

Lungs unaccustomed with the fullness of air beat erratically in their rib cages; their spent bodies settled back into the softness of the mattress. After a minute of catching breath, Draco rolled to the side of Granger, his body remaining canted towards her like a magnet unresisting its pull. Although the sensations were fading, Draco couldn't remember the last time he felt quite so… at peace.

He flung an arm across her stomach.

 _I just had sex with Hermione Granger._

His fingers circled her belly button lazily while an odd sense of uneasiness curled into his chest like smoke.

 _I just had_ _sex_ _with Hermione Granger._

His attention flicked to the play of his fingers, horrific comprehension dawning.

"Oh shite!" Draco shot up to a sitting position, staring down in utter panic at Granger who remained lying in total repose, as if without a care in the world. Her brow crinkled at his abrupt turn of mood. "I never cast a contraception charm!" he groaned.

Slowly, an uncharacteristic smirk stretched across her face, like a kneazle who caught the mouse and was about to leave the unfortunate gift on his master's bed.

Draco vaguely considered taking her all over again.

Granger's eyes closed, relaxed and unruffled. "I wordlessly cast one earlier when I was setting my personal things on the chest." She stretched luxuriously, her skin nearly glowing in her pleasure, before coming to a sitting position. With cheeks tinged pink, she pulled a sheet modestly across all that delicious skin.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the action even as disappointment shimmered through him at losing the view.

"Unbelievable," he groused.

"I'm cautious," she countered.

A look of goading disbelief. "Presumptuous."

Granger watched him, unblinking, before affecting a one-shoulder shrug of unspoken acquiescence. "I was antsy. Then," she admitted softly.

Both sets of eyes turned to face the wall where the writing desk was situated. Draco cleared his throat. "And now, you're mine."

A disbelieving laugh burst from Granger's lips. He could see, from his peripherals, her beyond-tousled hair shift as she turned her head, those eyes raking hot over his skin with challenge and skepticism.

He sighed impatiently; no matter the mistakes he _might_ have made during their covert… relationship, for lack of a better term… no _Malfoy_ would have to lower himself and prove his honesty. _Then again, Granger wasn't much interested in Malfoy, was she?_

He retreated to his mind and sent a silent request to the Room. In less than a minute, color popped into existence. Draco leaned back on his hands and watched as Granger gravitated to the little accumulation of color, his mood somewhere between satisfied and anxious. The sheet trailed behind her, white waves kissing her freckled shoulders down to the small dip of her back.

Draco swallowed. _And to think I thought one shag would cure me of her. Fucking Salazar, now all I can think of is putting that desk to good use._

Granger gasped a little as she first fingered the fringed petals of the white carnations. She moved her hand to caress the deep plum stalks of the Veronica and then smiled as her hands landed at last on the fragrant, purple hyacinth.

She threw a look over her shoulder, her eyelashes fluttering playfully. "I do appreciate a man who knows his flowers." Then she walked over to the chest, shifting the sheet so it lay like a cloak across her shoulders and allowed her to redress modestly.

Granger's next words were muffled by the sheet and her bowed head but Draco heard them just the same.

"And are you mine as well?"

His heart stuttered. He thought back to the line he uttered earlier during their shag, and the truth it carried, unwieldy though it may be. He wondered how long he would have to repeat it before she believed it to be truth.

Swiftly then, Draco realized he would say it every bloody day if he had to… as much for himself as for her.

Capturing her eyes in the mirror as she came to full height he said, "Yes, Hermione." _Yours._


	24. Mirror, Mirror

**A/N: I'm baaaaack! It killed me to post this since now I am only three chapters ahead of my posting schedule but alas, how do I deny those people that are still reading? Many thanks to you, people! Please, forgive me the formatting for the journal entries; they've become baneful.**

* * *

 **Mirror, Mirror**

* * *

" _Light and shadow are opposite sides of the same coin. We can illuminate our path or darken our way. It is a matter of choice." -Maya Angelou_

" _Mirror, mirror can't you see- what you show is killing me?" -Anon._

Hermione saw Draco one last time before leaving for break. As the boys had an early start to the Burrow, Hermione tarried in the Great Hall all throughout the morning hours- mindlessly munching toast and reading the same few sentences in her current tome over and over as she waited for Draco to show his face.

The train left at 1PM which only gave Hermione a few hours to connect with Draco before their long holiday break.

 _Thank goodness I don't wait to the last second to pack._

She pushed her toast away, sufficiently full and simultaneously disappointed. As much as she wished to see Draco, if only to prove to herself that the night before hadn't been concocted by her less-than-wild imagination, Hermione knew better than to go searching the castle for him as it would raise a flurry of suspicion.

She palmed her book and swept towards the exit of the Great Hall. Just past the turn into the Entrance Hall, she saw a flash of that tell-tale ice blond hair. Hermione's heart thudded in anticipation before she tore after it, down the stairwell that leads to the basement and dungeons.

Halfway down the stairs, a rough pull on her robes had her stumbling backwards into an alcove although sure hands kept her from falling entirely.

She scolded a bit breathlessly, "I've been waiting all morning for you."

Draco's body stood as firm as the stone walls as his hands held her fast against his chest. Hermione couldn't see him when he leant down to whisper in her ear almost playfully.

"You've been waiting in the wrong place."

With that, Draco maneuvered his way out of the alcove and down the steps, not even sparing a backward glance.

Hermione scowled before she belatedly realized he was actually trying to hint at something with his remark. After a moment's contemplation, she scaled the stairs with renewed purpose, all the while internally berating herself for her foolishness. She should have known that Draco would have gone to the one place they have met repeatedly in over the past three months.

Much of the castle was empty of students, likely packing in time to make the afternoon train, so Hermione's trek up to the 7th floor was smooth and went unnoticed. She stopped short of the wall feeling out of breath despite 6 years' practice climbing stairs. Oddly, a door much like the one from last night was already visible in the expanse of smooth stone.

Hermione shook out her robes and ran a hand over her crazed curls, apprehension washing through her. She approached the door slowly, looking both ways down the unoccupied corridor, before turning the handle tentatively.

Inside, the bedroom envisioned by Draco last evening awaited her- complete with the sneaky snake himself draped in an armchair by the bookcase.

He put down whatever book he was thumbing through and stood up, frozen in place until Hermione fully entered and shut the door.

Looking at him, eyes brimming with curiosity, Hermione asked the question that had been plaguing her the moment the room revealed itself. "How- " she started but Draco only smirked.

Her heart raced at that look, once so filled with disdain but now only hinting at amusement. "Potter's not the only one who has learned how to use the room, Granger," he stated as he now wove his way past the furniture and toward her. "It's all about being specific in your desires. I simply added to my request that the door to the room only be visible to you."

"Remarkable," Hermione breathed. She never grew detached at the depth and breadth of magic.

"I am that, yes," Draco replied as he reached where she was standing. He stood in his own school robes, Slytherin tie perfectly centered with an insufferable smirk curving his lips.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his mischievousness and reached out to swat him with the hopes of reestablishing some equilibrium. Draco ensnared her wrist halfway to his chest.

"Now, now. Is that any way to treat what's yours?" he murmured, moving close enough so that his breath stirred the curls at her temple.

Hermione swallowed down the desire that already flooded her body at his touch. She tried to temper her voice to nonchalance. Tried and failed. "Oh, so that was real then, last night? Not just a moment of madness?"

Draco tipped her chin up, their eyes clashing like waves. Hermione felt like she was drowning until he breathed his next words.

"It was definitely a moment of madness." Then he kissed her, spreading the madness like a contagion. He peppered her neck and chin with soft, insistent presses of his lips and the contagion burned from the point of contact down to her stomach and lower… until Hermione forgot why she sought out Draco in the first place.

 _Perhaps this is why I sought him out,_ Hermione thought dazedly as Draco fisted her hair and arched her to expose the column of her neck. _What a farewell…_

Hermione's eyes shot open, the desire clearing to reveal an alert amber. "Farewell! Draco, wait- " she pleaded although her heart wasn't very much into stopping his passionate perusal. Nevertheless…

"Draco," she repeated and he lifted his head, the gray of his eyes sharpening instantly at the serious expression sketched across her face.

"What is it?" he asked as his hands continued to play suggestively with her robe opening.

 _Is it always going to be like this now? Overwhelming distraction by desire?_ Hermione forced herself to focus.

"It's just… this happened so fast,"

"Not really," Draco interrupted. She threw a withering look then continued. "And we're not going to see each other for a month."

Hermione paused, struggling to articulate the mess that was her mind. "I guess I wanted to check this was real."

Draco slightly sighed then knocked foreheads with her. "For better or for worse." He snuck a kiss and then went back to work undoing her robe, thinking Hermione finished.

Boy, did he have a lot to learn.

"I guess I also wanted to know," she pressed on, remaining rigidly uncooperative in his attempts to disrobe her, "if there were any way for us to communicate during break."

Draco scoffed- either at her voiced thought or his failure at the robe, she wasn't sure. He took a step back from Hermione and unsheathed his wand. Deftly, he spelled the robe right off of her causing Hermione to gasp at his single-minded focus. Yet, she felt far too exhilarated by his persistence.

Before she could ineffectually scold him, his eyes went wide and he strode forward to grip the black shirt she was wearing underneath. His black shirt.

"What the fuck? Granger, where did you…" Draco drifted off, memory unlocking the answer as comprehension smoothed the confusion crinkles on his forehead. Hermione ran her thumb across a stubborn one, feeling finally at ease now that he wasn't. Knowing the two of them didn't have much time, she chalked up her courage and unbuttoned her skirt, dropping the warm tweed to her ankles so that only her knee-high stockings and Draco's overlong shirt impeded his view.

"I suppose we both have souvenirs from the summer," she goaded as one eyebrow cocked delicately over her warm, brown eyes.

A growl of approval, however disgruntled, vibrated in Draco's throat before he hoisted Hermione up and against the door of the room. He burrowed his face into her chest, likely catching the last tendrils of his scent threaded deep into the fabric. Hermione sighed at the closeness of his firm body and then gasped at his playful nip on the edge of her bra.

"Well aren't you clever," he hummed into her exposed throat before wrapping her legs around him so that he could free up a hand to pull her down into a consuming kiss.

And consume it did; until all their clothes save for her stockings were stripped away, until they were near breathless from the contact and strewn across the bed.

This time, Draco lay underneath Hermione, undulating from her exploration- first hands… then mouth… until Draco wrenched her back up to his face and groaned, "Enough."

Reaching blindly, he took her wand in hand and muttered the contraceptive charm before dropping the vinewood by their legs. Briefly Hermione contemplated the significance of the effortlessness in the sharing of wands but the thought dissipated at the delicious pressure of Draco easing into her. She basked in the view of the blond's riveted gaze until he paused in their joining, those silver irises turning pensive.

"Are you all right? From last night," he asked, the question eking out past a moan clogging his throat. Hermione looked at him, slightly entranced; then, folding her fingers around the wrists that gripped her hips, she smiled and plunged herself the rest of the way down.

The moan burst from Draco just as she shuddered, "Yes." They moved awkwardly against one another for a few moments before Draco surrendered to her pace- frenzied and impassioned, a race to the finish that neither totally wanted for they knew what it symbolized.

But the feel of Draco's fingers rubbing roughly at her stockinged legs had Hermione cresting unexpectedly and she called out his name in aching relief, his own shout of surrender shortly following.

Hermione collapsed on top of him. Their heavy breaths along with the scent of sweat and sex clouded the room and despite being heated, the two lovers did not move from their position on the bed.

Five minutes or an hour later- Hermione couldn't come to care- she felt the cooling of sweat on her overheated skin and the sensation brought back their uncomfortable reality. She pushed herself to a sitting position and reluctantly reached for her shirt but before grabbing it, a different one zoomed into her hands.

Hermione looked over her shoulder to find slate eyes ablaze. Draco didn't say anything so Hermione shrugged into the shirt and then nestled back into his bare side, her eyes level with the pale smooth column of his throat. She knew they would have to go soon, lest they miss the train, but she really wanted an answer from Draco about break. Their relationship felt as new and fragile as the December snow blanketing the grounds; she feared if she breathed too hard, its exquisiteness would just melt away.

He tapped the side of her temple to get her attention. "Stop thinking," he chided and then proceeded to play with her now frazzled curls. "How long have you known about the diary?"

She smiled and felt the answering squeeze from his left arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"Since green apples,"

Draco grumbled to himself, then, "And the McLaggen entries?"

Now Hermione laughed. She considered teasing him but his words, still edged in envy, had her admitting, "Planted. I needed to get through to you somehow."

Draco escalated to cursing at that. "I don't appreciate being played," he gritted as his body shifted slightly away from Hermione's affectionate form.

She raised herself on one elbow to find Draco's face turned away, paler than normal as he clenched his jaw in frustration. Hermione resisted the urge to reach for him, instead speaking softly to his profile.

"I didn't intend it that way."

Silence.

"Draco, I only wanted to force you to see me."

His jaw cracked under the pressure. Loud like a gunshot.

Hermione ran her hand, feather-light, down his chest, resigning herself to leaving for break unsatisfied. _At least mentally._

"We likely wouldn't even be here without that journal," she mused. His stomach indented at the play of her pads on his skin.

Suppressing a smile, Hermione rolled onto her back even as the logical part of her brain pressured her to hasten for the train. She stared at the pristine white ceiling instead, asking, "I don't suppose it works both ways? Perhaps you could write to me… over the holidays?"

More silence, save for the shifting of his body back towards the center of the bed, towards her own. Their skin kissed from shoulder to thigh. "No," he said a bit sharply, "I would have nothing to say anyway."

Hermione sighed her defeat then rose purposefully, gathering the last of her clothing so that she could depart for the tower. After reassembling her attire, she turned back to where Draco lay, unmoving, and Accio'ed her wand. A shimmer of color came into view just as the wand connected with her palm. The desk once again held a crystal cut vase of perfectly bloomed pink carnations, the color soon mimicked in her cheeks as they suffused with a blush.

"Me too," she confessed to the air as Draco remained stubbornly set on memorizing every facet of the ceiling. Hermione turned then to leave, calling out a rather forlorn Happy Christmas when Draco's voice finally cracked the tension of the room.

"You could always write in the journal, if you want. I wouldn't oppose."

A lump formed at the base of her throat, pulsing wildly from her want of him. Unable to get any words past the emotional knot, Hermione's eyes caressed his form once more before she left.

oOo

Nothing short of bittersweet relief hit Draco's chest when he saw his mother standing just behind his father's imposing frame on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He walked toward them sedately, as a Malfoy would, even as the relief was chased from his blood by a sickening dread of what the holiday might hold for him.

Over the heads of his parents, most of the other students milled as they reunited with their families, and Draco enforced every ounce of self-control he had left not to scan the crowds for brown, bushy hair.

One final look would not suffice in carrying him through the hell that would be his holiday.

He reached his mother and stepped into her embrace. The smell of roses on her skin in the dead of winter was a balm to his agitation. Still, he used the position to shamelessly stare into the throngs of people and bank of engine smoke. Granger was easy to find as she stood alone with her parents nowhere to be found.

Draco frowned at that, uneasiness threading through him. However, as he drew back from his mother to greet his father, he swiped his face clean of emotion. A similar mask greeted his own and for the first time, Draco resented the familiar Malfoy sneer.

"Son," Lucius intoned, the three letters bowing under the weight of emotion they carried. Draco assessed his father's face once more but couldn't puzzle out anything the man was feeling, short of impatience to leave the station.

The smoky sense of uneasiness solidified into dread.

Despite the new heaviness in his chest, Draco bowed his head in signal that they could depart. _The sooner I'm home the sooner I can check the journal anyway. Where in the bloody hell are her parents?_ His distress hidden, the Malfoys strutted superciliously to the wall that would exit them onto King's Cross where they would apparate back to the Manor. Draco felt Granger's eyes, intense in their penetration, as they walked past the remaining families.

Invitation and salvation like twin beacons emanated from her face. Already their brief but fierce connection had grown into something far beyond Draco's control, the force of it as real and as present as he was. As real and as present as the threat of death.

Draco resisted running restless fingers through his carefully-styled hair as the Malfoys drew near the apparition point. Just as he was about to turn on the spot, his mother leaned in and whispered cryptically in his ear, "Be prepared," before vanishing herself.

~Dec 4

Dear Journal,

It's only been a couple days since leaving Hogwarts and already I'm restless to return. There's nothing for me at home except empty space and endless time. Time that will lend itself to worry… I don't believe everyone's break will be as boring as my own.

Although I doubt I'll know as it's very unlikely I'll receive any communication.

All right. Enough self-pity. I landed on Platform 9 ¾ and was disappointed that my parents couldn't make it to greet me at the station. This wasn't entirely surprising as we did converse over the term that the practice has been busy and I prefer not to hassle them, especially now with the growing attitude towards Muggles. It worked out all right as I just strolled to a discreet spot and used the opportunity to practice Apparition, landing safely in my bedroom.

This of course made me wonder if I should use the free time to read up on warding my home to ensure some measure of safety. I have a couple books that look promising; the concept of protection spells will bring some peace of mind, especially considering the uncertainty of the future.

No. I shall avoid that thought chasm for the time being. Tomorrow I shall finish my Christmas shopping since recently an addition was made to the list. It will be devilishly difficult to buy for someone who has access to everything he would ever want but I never turn down a challenge.

Tonight, however. Tonight I think I will just fill the quiet with music from my iPod and let the waves of memories imprinted in this room wash over me, erasing whatever anxiety stubbornly sticks to my shoulders.

Until next time…~

Draco scowled and his heart steadied for the first time in three days.

~Dec 14

Dear Journal,

I haven't been writing as much as I hoped during this break but the last week or so my parents have been… present, for lack of a better term? I don't know if it's the holiday season or they could sense the discontent in me but every evening has been filled with dinners, holiday gatherings, and the theater.

My days, on the other hand, have been filled with Christmas preparations like cookie baking and tree trimming. If I were to deliver a truth, the further I drift from Hogwarts with no contact, the more doubtful I become. There's no point to be emotionally wrought to an object that could provide no comfort in return, however.

Nor could it provide a cynical dose of reality which, as it were, be the thing I crave more at the moment. What a Christmas gift that would be! Speaking of, that seems to be one of the few silver linings as of late; as we inch closer and closer to the holiday, it signifies the imminent return to what has become my true home- Hogwarts.

What a relief that will be, don't you think?

Before that, though, I will be at the Weasleys from Boxing Day, on. It'll become too crowded for writing time… an intimate activity all my own… which will force me to conceal the journal until my return to school. Thankfully I consider myself a rather bright witch and a false bottom in my trunk with a little locking charm should do the trick.~

Draco stared at the words until they blurred, trying in vain to chase away the odd sense of nostalgia that had tightened his chest to the point that breathing had become difficult. He pressed on his rib cage to release the tension before reluctantly casting a Notice-me-not charm on the journal and stowing it deep under his school things which remained neatly packed in his trunk.

He loathed to get comfortable.

A curse, unbidden, tumbled past his teeth as the longing returned to tickle his senses. He hated that he succumbed to his feelings for Granger. He hated how strong they were even as the newness of their established relationship still lingered.

A sharp rap on his closed door cut into his self-loathing but Draco only stood, adjusted his cuffs, then strode out and into the hallway, masked in passivity.

Where under the surface, the list droned on. _I hate that we've had mirror images of break,_ he thought a bit testily as even now, he made his way to yet another Death Eater meeting.

In the two-ish weeks Draco had been home, he either sought out his mother due to a pitiful weakness to confirm her good health, or his father dragged him to meeting after endless meeting being held there at Headquarters, as if the youngest Malfoy had any say in the content being discussed.

He hadn't any fucks to give about it, either.

But duty called and already the lack of the Dark Lord's presence worried Draco to sleeplessness; he knew it to be absurd but he couldn't help thinking that his forbidden thoughts could be picked up a mile away by an ol' Legilimens.

Red sparks thrown across the endless dark that was Malfoy Manor.

The turmoil followed him through the closed meeting door where at least six Death Eaters gathered, one being Bellatrix. Although there were plenty of seats, she paced like an excitable puppy, her path narrowing on Draco until he backed up against the very door frame from which he just entered.

Swathed in black lace, she looked- and _smelled_ \- a sight better now months after her breakout. Her body showed signs of gaining weight and yet her face retained the sharp, unforgiving angles of deprivation.

Bellatrix cracked a smile teeming with manic hunger before cooing, "Little Draco- how wonderful that you could join us! Your tardiness, however, is regrettable…"

Draco saw the curved black wand being raised over both their heads and aimed at him so he braced for her attack; for once in his life, though, his father intervened.

"Bella," the reprimand sliced the woman free of her sadistic trance, "We have more important things to cover during this hour than my son's lamentable manners. Draco, come. Now."

Too relieved to be embarrassed, Draco extricated himself from the cramped space Bellatrix had wedged him in and made his way over to his father, certain his face was still devoid of color.

He didn't very much care, which was becoming a problematic pattern for him.

Lucius speared Draco with a quick, disapproving glance of ice before returning to the conversation at hand. The young Malfoy slouched into a nearby chair as Bella went back to pacing, the restless movement of her limbs hinting at the promise of an impending outlet.

Draco swallowed but forced his body to drain itself of tension as he draped himself in the chair with loose-limbed insouciance, all the while chasing the frantic fear around his head like a rogue Cornish Pixie.

Knowing it would be virtually impossible to catch and tamp down on the fear, Draco abandoned that effort and instead strove to distract himself first by listening to the incessant drivel spewed forth by Voldemort's henchmen and second, by contemplating crazy notions of getting some covert message to Granger.

Draco found himself so deep into formulating low-risk endeavors that when he first heard his name, it was muffled as if coming through water. "Well, young Draco? What are your thoughts?" The question came, clearer now that the asker hissed it directly over his shoulder.

Draco started in his seat, the bones of his back stiffening once he recognized the sadistic lilt as belonging to Bellatrix.

His throat, too clogged with panic to even stutter, worked convulsively as Draco conjured a response. His eyes flew momentarily to the impassive set of his father's features before he bowed his head in acknowledged submission.

"I find myself… unworthy to warrant an opinion on the matter."

Most of the gathered group chuckled darkly at his response before heading their separate ways for the remainder of the evening. Draco stood, holding his relief in his pocketed clenched fists, and moved past the muttering between his father and Bellatrix, ready to collapse into the oblivion of sleep.

"Draco." _Bugger. Can I get any bloody unluckier? A strike of lightning would be more merciful than this._

He turned back toward Lucius who nodded his dismissal to Bellatrix, the malevolent witch quitting the room with a hint of smile twisting her face.

Draco's blood ran cold.

At the slight snick of the door, Draco clasped now-sweaty hands behind his back as he waited for his father to acknowledge him. Seconds stretched to minutes; the collar of Draco's shirt became damp with sweat and still he waited, not trusting his own voice.

Or the reaction from his father.

Finally, Lucius strolled forward until they were close enough their breaths could mingle. Even with Draco's growth spurt, his father still commanded him from the four mere inches he had above his son.

"For shame," Lucius hissed. He circled Draco slowly, the glacial gaze cemented to the young Malfoy's blank expression. "You might as well asked to be killed now, you utterly foolish boy."

At Draco's raised, questioning eyebrow, Lucius delivered a handful of his disappointment straight to Draco's right cheek.

"Your dear Aunt Bellatrix," Lucius spat as he moved to crowd Draco with his icy ferocity, "is concerned that you have become distracted. As if I needed her to point out the obvious."

Between his quick inhalations and the singing pain of his cheek, Draco attempted to appease. "Father, I have not- "

Another slap. This time Lucius caught the corner of Draco's left eye and it immediately fell closed in attempt to blunt the pain, his sharp intake of breath the only outward sign that his father was getting to him.

Lucius' censure further rained down. "You cannot lie to me. I'm your father; or have you forgotten the family you owe your life to?"

Draco had, in fact, if only for a moment. He remained prudently quiet, save for the nearly-suppressed waves of breath staving off the brunt of the pain. Lucius' eyes connected with the only gray one still open on Draco's face. "Luckily for you," he continued, as if the visible damage he wrought was of no consequence, "I _do_ remember. Also, luckily for you, Bellatrix is abysmal at legilimency so she could not enter your mind."

The color drained from Draco's injury-flushed face. _Was I truly so distracted that I didn't even sense her failed invasion? Fuck._ Lucius caught the change in Draco and a self-serving smirk cut across his face, for a moment startling Draco from his present turmoil.

In that one suspended breath, he felt like he was looking in the mirror.

His eye slammed close as all at once he felt too exhausted to deal with the many truths swirling around in the air.

Lucius, clearly riding what he felt was a wave of victory, continued his lecture with relish. "I don't want to know what has you so off track but the Dark Lord will not appreciate your split focus. Nor will I. Our family will not suffer for your inadequacy. You best figure out your priorities."

And with that, Lucius swiped his wand in front of Draco's face, erasing any evidence of his censure from the skin. Nevertheless as Draco watched his father stride from the room, the cessation of physical pain only amplified the anguish that arced through his body.

Gripping his center as if he could hold together the broken pieces, Draco stumbled back to his room, choking on shame… which turned to the blackest resentment… sharpening lastly to fear.

 _I'm not cut out for this,_ he admitted to the dark silence of his bedroom as he collapsed on the four-poster, shudders racking his body completely useless. His eyes dazedly traced the familiar shadows before they finally fell closed.

 _I'm going to get us all killed,_ he moaned, the terrible truth echoing off the recesses of his mind. Draco's clothes and the soft cradle of the mattress became oppressive after awhile but he couldn't find the strength to move.

Instead, he agonized over the mirror image his father struck and the way Draco's actions being reflected back to him seeded self-loathing along his skin. An epiphany struck- Draco detested his life as Malfoy heir since now it was clear it only meant for him to inherit fear and hate and loneliness.

He was so fucking tired of being lonely.

Submitting to the ever-moving static of darkness as it played across his closed eyelids, Draco released a tired exhale and directed his mind to drift out and away from the latest, intense black pit he'd fallen into. When he awoke, all he could remember was the abiding steadiness of affectionate, amber eyes that had lit his way back.


	25. Holiday Horror

**Holiday Horror**

* * *

" _When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it." -Unknown_

Draco awoke Christmas morning, his eyes slammed shut against reality as an awful premonition rolled his stomach. Despite the serenity of his room, interrupted only by the occasional popping log in the fireplace, Draco feared that opening his eyes would unveil whatever unnamed horror had his stomach in knots.

However, realist that he was, he knew he couldn't lie in bed forever; even if the cowardly side of him warmed at the thought. Draco opened his eyes on a resigned sigh, the air leaving his body all at once turning to relief at the sight of his unoccupied room that now sported a modest pile of presents atop his desk.

Swinging his legs over the bed, Draco shrugged into his slippers and padded over to the gifts. The pile was smaller than he was used to seeing, for sure, but he couldn't conjure up any care past the relief that something about this holiday would indeed be normal.

Most of the gifts were from his parents. Three, less perfectly wrapped packages came from other senders. Glancing at the tags Draco found that the large, square package was from Theo and the rectangular one was from Blaise.

The third was unsigned.

Curiosity drove him to grab the smallest of all the gifts, his hands turning it over methodically even as his heartbeat picked up in hurried anticipation. Draco finally ripped off the wrapping and threw it on the ground, finding underneath a white box with a bitten apple engraved into its center. A folded bit of parchment slid into his lap when he removed the lid but all thought of reading the alleged note fled him once he saw what was nestled inside the box.

A jet-black music device- he believed Granger had called it an iPod all those months ago- sat shiny and unblemished, inanimate, and yet supremely dangerous in the box's molding.

He dreaded touching it.

As much as he loathed the fanciful thinking of Hufflepuffs, Draco worried that in the highly unstable environment he had to live in at present, something as innocuous as sharing space with the muggle device would jinx him.

The paranoia was enough to color Draco angry because there would be only one person bloody stupid enough to send such a gift. Snatching up the parchment, he wrenched it open and immediately recognized the handwriting.

~ _To the wizard who has everything magical at his fingertips- I hope this gift helps you to discover magic beyond your narrow-minded comprehension.~_

The note crumpled in Draco's clenching fist. _Fuck, she has nerve. Send a gift but insult the person at the same time?_

Accioing his wand from under his pillow- he refused to sleep unprotected anymore- he incendioed the note and watched how all his good feelings went up in smoke as well.

Draco looked at the box again and considered what to do with it. He pulled the device out then proceeded to set the box on fire as well, determined to leave as little evidence as possible. As the flames licked the white box, he just managed to see the ear-thingys tucked underneath the device. Instinctively he snagged them.

The little orbs on strings tangled around his fingers like a snare and in that moment, Draco's ire cracked; he knew that no matter how upset he was at Granger's foolish gift, it served too poignant a reminder of their beginning to also be destroyed.

He opened his trunk and stuffed the gift down into its depths near the journal he couldn't bear to even look at. Before closing the trunk, however, he paused; it was damning enough to carry around the journal but to now have a distinctly muggle product in hand?

That's beckoning death to come have its way with him. Draco looked, unseeing, into his trunk before a niggling memory snagged in his mind's web- _Thankfully I consider myself a rather bright witch and a false bottom in my trunk with a little locking charm should do the trick_

Comprehension unfurled from the flashback of Granger's journal entry. The damnable witch had given him the answer over a week ago. _Merlin, she does have nerve,_ although the observation now came on a wave of grudging admiration.

Draco quickly removed the items from his trunk, depositing the mess on his bed, so that he could see the bottom. After a moment's concentration, he muttered a charm to conjure a fake bottom that would remain solid until he utilized his personal signature to unlock the thing. Slowly, a bit reverently, he placed the journal and iPod into their new haven, flicking his wand to "lock" the bottom before replacing all of his items haphazardly into the trunk.

Satisfied, Draco leisurely opened the rest of his gifts now that he knew the most unpleasant surprise had been dealt with. Blaise got him a broom servicing kit- although Draco couldn't recall the last time he flew- and Theo sent a ridiculously stuffed box of Weasley Wizards' Wheezes with an addendum stating "he needed more laughter in his life".

Draco snorted from the irony.

Contrastly, his parents' gifts were more sedate consisting mostly of new clothing as well as two books, one on Potions and the other on Transfiguration. _If that old bat didn't teach the subject, I'd wager I'd take to it more._ He thumbed through the text curiously, almost missing the small pop signaling the arrival of an elf.

Draco paused in his perusing and lifted his head to the small creature who looked clean and rather festive in a tea towel embroidered with holly leaves. Draco had thrown a fit after the debacle that had lost his family his favorite of all house elves- Dobby- and in a rare moment of concession, Lucius agreed to treat the elf staff better so there would be no cause for similar incident in the future.

And so here stood one such house elf who had reaped the benefits of Draco's pre-pubescent tantrum, but damned if he knew the creature's name.

In true Malfoy style, he raised an inquiring eyebrow. The thing squeaked its nervousness before speaking, "Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa is ready to partake in Yule brunch and is inviting you to join them." Then, with a shaky bow, the little elf disappeared.

For the chance at some small slice of peace, Draco hastened through his morning ablutions and donned one of his new sweaters, a charcoal gray that went with his standard black, pleated trousers. Standing in front of his floor-length mirror he swiped his hands through slightly damp, Malfoy-pale locks. He all at once recognized the reflection staring back at him and felt like a complete imposter. In the space of a few short months, all the truths that had fit so perfectly together and constructed his person were now scattered to the floor by fate, the careless bitch, and now…

Now, he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to get them to fit again.

A meal chime vibrated through the cavernous hallways of the Manor, reminding Draco he needed to get a move on and fast. He apparated to the entrance of the dining room and strode in, sending a faint smile of greeting toward his mother bedecked in silver dress robes, her dark hair pulled back from her face by the silver and opal clips Draco gifted her for Christmas.

His father stood by the head seat and Draco nodded stiffly in his direction. Lucius flicked his dress robes out- since he too found it fit to dress ostentatiously- before descending into his seat and signaling the start of the meal.

"I see you've taken to a casual form of dress, Draco," the patriarch remarked. A steaming bisque popped into existence and the family dipped their spoons, almost in unison, before the remark was addressed.

"It seemed pretentious when it would be just the three of us," Draco replied, warming perversely at the overloud scrape of his father's spoon against the china. Narcissa interjected. "You look handsome, dear. And rather grown up too without the robes to hide you."

They proceeded through their soup silently after that.

When the bisque had been eaten and the main course of thinly sliced roast with coddled eggs and stewed tomatoes appeared, and Draco's patience reached its capacity, the silence was yet again broken.

"Thank you for the gifts," he offered to the empty air. Although his eyes never left his plate, Draco could feel his father's incredulous stare burning a hole into his bowed head. He lifted his gaze, instead, to his mother who seemed rather intent on studying Draco although her thoughts on his uncharacteristic gratitude proved unfathomable.

 _For all our impeccable etiquette, it seems, a thank you falls a bit out of bounds._

The delicious food turned cumbersome in his throat. His statement was atypical, true, but he couldn't stand to sit in stilted silence for the entirety of the meal. It left too much space for thinly veiled untruths to float into the ether, revealed by the flickering chandelier.

As the heavy clinking of silver against china tailed Draco's awkward comment, the already tense atmosphere pressed more heavily once the doors shot open to admit Bellatrix.

"Don't stand for me," she trilled as neither man stirred in their seats. The eccentric witch lowered herself into the seat next to Draco where a setting magically appeared. She crooked a finger at the roast and a few pieces zoomed to her plate, unable to resist her will.

Draco gulped a discourteous mouthful of wine. Then he felt the eyes, cool and calculating.

"Cissa," Bellatrix said although her eyes remained steadfast on her nephew, "I think you need to have a word with your son. He has become too distracted. It's shameful!" The word snapped, a verbal whip, and Draco couldn't help but raise his eyes to his mother for her reaction.

Narcissa's lips, pressed into a firm line, quivered slightly at the edges but steel suffused the rest of her posture. Eyes trained on Bellatrix, she answered succinctly, "I trust Draco to have his priorities straight."

Twin gazes clashed across the table, the collision invisible to the audience and yet felt as threatening reverberations down deep. Past skin and blood, to intractable bone. Draco longed to shake off the unsteadying feeling but wagered any fidgeting would be a sign of weakness, and Bellatrix did not need more fodder for Voldemort's ear.

His crazy aunt, after an eternity of glaring, couldn't resist getting in the final word. "If you won't motivate him, Cissy, then the Dark Lord will."

The air chilled considerably. In the eerie press of anticipation all perfunctory movements of dining quieted and Draco wondered for the first time if he would survive this visit home.

He also wondered about Hermione and what her Christmas looked like, if it held free-flowing conversation with her parents and warm drinks and worry free hours in front of a fireplace. The few paltry journal entries came to mind, then. _No,_ he thought rather pityingly, _that is nowhere near her reality. What a match we make._

All at once the anticipation swirled into something more sinister as the dining room's doors opened, yet again, to harken the arrival of the Dark Lord himself. He glided in barefoot as usual, with the folds of his black robe trailing more tenaciously than a shadow. Lucius bolted from his seat at the head of the table to settle next to Draco's mother; before Voldemort even descended into the abandoned chair, the place settings had been switched.

Smart elves.

"Begin," the spectral man intoned and the food shimmered away at his command, to be replaced by a vegetable gratin with hollandaise and cold ham. With even more rigid movements, the Malfoys began dining again. They were afforded only a few minutes of some weak semblance of peace before the Dark Lord addressed them.

"Tardiness is such a grievous offense. Don't you agree, young Draco?"

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He chewed the bite of his gratin long after it turned to mush in his mouth as he pondered the best way to answer. Eyes cast downward, Draco swallowed and postulated, "I imagine, my Lord, that you always arrive exactly when you mean to." He took a bite of ham and tried to ignore the breathy snort released by Bellatrix.

An eternity-in-a-moment's silence, then, "Quite." Draco breathed but was immediately bombarded again; this time, the hissed words held more bite.

"Draco," Voldemort began thoughtfully although his eyes remained narrowed in accusation, "I can't help but wonder as to why you believe it appropriate to show up to dinner dressed as a mudblood. Care to explain?"

An array of reactions flickered in Draco's peripherals- from Bellatrix's disgusted, scrunched face to his father who arched a supercilious brow screaming "I told you so"- but all the young Malfoy could focus on was schooling his own to not betray his discomfort at the slur. The slur that he once said as often as declaring the weather. The slur that epitomized everything and nothing of Hermione Granger's identity.

A slight indent appeared as he clenched his jaw but Draco plowed ahead with all the smoothness of a snake. "My sincerest apologies, my Lord," as Draco placed his hands atop the table palm up in silent supplication. "I wrongly assumed that I would be dining solely with my parents this day and hoped to show gratitude of their gifts by wearing it openly. Would you like me to retrieve my robes?"

The accusation drained slowly from Voldemort's expression, leaving behind a carved look of skepticism. Nevertheless, the man resumed eating with an apathetic air, replying enigmatically, "No. That won't be necessary. I can appreciate the need to honor your parents."

The party as a whole continued to their meal. Draco sunk into his internal mire, only vaguely hearing the unbelievable compliment by Voldemort to his mother on the food, and then hearing even less when the adult males spoke on the status of the Ministry. In fact, he would have felt completely insubstantial if it weren't for the vaguest sense of double vision on the inside of his skull.

The view of his half-empty plate dissolved into blips of life at Hogwarts this past term and too late, horrific comprehension struck Draco like a Stupefy. Fighting against a now-racing heart, he focused on what he hoped were some of the less incriminating memories from the past 4 months all as the members gathered attempted to engage him in conversation.

"Tell me, Draco, have you learned anything particularly exciting so far?" Voldemort speared him with his intense red eyes and Draco could feel the slip in his mental defenses as he tried to scrounge up an answer.

"Well," Draco stalled, his inner eye skirting the last Hogsmeade trip playback, "the mastery of nonverbal spells has proved challenging, my Lord." Draco swallowed past the anxiety clogging his airways because despite his passable Occlumency skills, lack of practice left him tripping through his thoughts like a blind man. He may be able to throw walls up for the most intimate and damning moments but he could tell the Dark Lord had been able to latch onto something, regardless.

Voldemort hissed his repulsion, ripping from Draco's mind and leaving it open, exposed.

Wounded. The pain of the exit was so intense that Draco had to grip the table to avoid cursing out loud.

"I doubt," the Dark Lord spoke, each syllable dipped in venom, "that nonverbal spells were the only challenge you faced."

Someone's utensil clinked against a plate before the weight of the Dark Lord's disapproval burdened everything to inaction. Draco chanced a look at his face and saw the red of his slitted eyes glowing from their wrath.

"You know the fate that awaits your family and you get distracted by a girl?" Voldemort questioned and yet the answer sat in his deliberate relaxed pose, danced in between the accelerated puffs of breath from Bellatrix.

The master of his wretched fate continued. "Perhaps you don't know how… dangerous girls can be. Lucius, with me. Bella, I think Draco could learn a thing or two from you."

The men departed. Narcissa had turned white across the table from Draco who, striving for a moment of preparation, dabbed fastidiously at his mouth with his napkin. Then, without warning, Bella accioed the chair right from under him and he collapsed to the floor in a graceless heap.

 _No point in reaching for my wand. It'll only prolong the agony._

"Crucio."

The curse came on a wave of white-hot lightning, sizzling the first layer of his skin before burrowing deeper. Draco focused on breathing… one inhale and a shuddering exhale…

"So, nephew, you can't seem to keep your eyes off a girl? How pubescent." Bella cackled this before nonverbally casting another torture curse, the pain of this one longer. More intense. Heating his blood until the boiling pressure made his veins feel like they would implode.

 _Little inhales… little exhales… don't look at Mum…_

"There's nothing more important than this, Draco! The task. Your family's security. And the Dark Lord's success." The mad witch's playful banter darkened quickly, as did the strength of her curse. A third Crucio, so all-encompassing that Draco felt his bones vibrate, his teeth chatter. He wasn't even sure if he could feel his lungs working inside his trembling rib cage anymore.

 _Breathe. Breathe, you fool._

His eyes, although glassy, registered Bellatrix's wild visage as she stooped to stare into his face. Her dark eyes, wide with disbelief, were at stark contrast with her mouth deformed by a maniacal smile. "Just tell me who she is, sweet nephew. I will make sure she doesn't distract you again."

An uneasy calm curled into the vacant air as Bellatrix waited for Draco's answer.

If she were any sort of Legilimens, she would have had it, because Draco couldn't hold back against the flood of memories washing over his beleaguered body.

For one, merciful moment, as Granger's last expression in the Room played across his mind, Draco felt a surreal sense of peace even in his weakened position scrunched fetally on the floor. But then, Bella's patience snapped under his silence; she bellowed the curse such that the chandelier shook and Draco's body, now entirely beyond his control, burned so fiercely that tears began to pour down his face as some meager plea for relief.

The last things his consciousness grasped was the agonized cry of his mother, a knife of which he gladly impaled himself upon.

Aftershocks vibrated along his skin, so strong that the blissful state of oblivion dissolved into nothing under the pain. Draco gritted his teeth against a groan and braced himself. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself back in his room, curtains drawn against what he assumed was the blanket of night.

Which night, he hadn't a clue, although the strength of the next tremor purported only hours to have passed since his torture.

Draco couldn't spare the energy to think too hard on that now. With supreme effort he dragged his uncooperative body off the bed and over to his trunks. The breaths slammed from his chest. He rested a moment; then, using what little strength had returned during his short rest, Draco heaved open the lid and dove to the bottom, using the Hawthorn uselessly gripped in his right hand to unlock the fake slat of wood before he clutched the small gift, sighing in pathetic relief. The ancient magic woven into the very air of Malfoy Manor would prevent the little music device to play. But the irony was, as Draco sagged into a trembling heap on his floor, that the know-it-all swot he called girlfriend turned out to be right- it held a magic all its own that happened to transcend the complex wards and the silent white orbs.

A magic with its own name.


	26. The Inconvenient Intruder

**A/N: I'm fairly positive I am coming up to a year since I've started writing this and subsequently, posting it. To all those who have come along for the ride, my wildest gratitude. I started writing for me and was pretty much convinced (aka- forced by a supportive husband) to publish it for you. And any follow or favorite or review just settles the doubt in the heart a touch more. At this point, I've had a breakthrough and am pretty positive there are only 6-10 chapters left to write but that's because Draco and Hermione's story won't end in this fic...hang tight, friends. The ride isn't over quite yet!**

* * *

 **The Inconvenient Intruder**

* * *

" _You touch me without even touching me." -Rupi Kaur_

Draco's first weekend back before the start of second term felt surreal to him, as if he was traversing underwater to get through it.

Due to the remaining tremors he couldn't quite shake, Draco took to strolling with his hands in his pockets which is how the other Slytherins first saw him, a first year trailing behind with the Malfoy's enormous trunk that his weakened body could not bolster on its own. He greeted Goyle and Crabbe by name but only nodded his head at Pansy, his stride taking on a more determined pace as the lesser sycophants moved to greet him.

His sole purpose was to reach his dormitory without breaking down.

After a curt command thrown over his shoulder at the first year to leave his trunk, Draco barged into one of the few safe havens of Hogwarts to find Blaise and Theo huddled around his desk. The brunet didn't raise his head. "Forgive my stupidity but I do want to be sure- these texts from your father are charmed so that only the three of us know the true content. Right?"

Blaise's eyes sought out Draco and ran assessingly from the limp, near-colorless locks on his head down his body. Impossibly, his eyes grew darker.

Draco ignored him.

Instead he pitched his voice with as much fondness a Slytherin could afford- which wasn't much- and replied to Theo. "If you're talking about stupidity you are right. Unequivocally so. Give me fucking credit, Nott."

A smile quirked the profile of the brunet's face before he raised his eyes to Draco. "Nice to see you, friend," Theo said. Blaise avoided all attempts at pleasantries and strode forward just as a tremor shimmered through Draco. Blaise stopped short while Theo blanched.

The dark-skinned boy offered a hand and Draco stumbled into it like a cure-all could be found along the life line and yet as Blaise's warm skin made contact with Draco's unsteady form, the pin-prickling vibrations did indeed ebb to nothing.

"Physical contact helps," Blaise offered as explanation. The three boys made their way to the nearest bed, Goyle's, and sat heavily upon a mattress that was not unfamiliar with extreme weight. Theo took up the other side of Draco, placing a tentative hand to the tense area between the blond's shoulders. Instantly the muscles there released the built-up horror from the break.

"Just don't expect us to sleep with you," Theo said amiably. His cheeks dimpled at the grin that creased his face, especially after Blaise's wearied sigh. Draco, though, after the long dark stretch he just endured, latched onto the buoyant humor as if it could transport him out of the depths.

"I won't need to. I got Granger."

Theo toppled right off the bed from shock. Blaise slowly removed his hand but remained silent for which Theo, despite his rumpled sitting position on the floor, took full advantage of.

"Fucking Salazar, Draco!"

"That would be Granger, actually," the blond impudently muttered, tricking a disbelieving laugh out of Blaise.

Theo gaped wordlessly for a minute before plowing on. "A sense of humor. Granger. Torture symptoms. The break was four bloody weeks long, you git, how in Merlin's name did this all happen?"

Draco's face progressively shuttered the longer Theo nattered on. As thick and as ancient these castle walls may be, he didn't believe for a minute that their conversation couldn't be eavesdropped and so he remained belligerently silent. After a full minute of Draco's stony glare, Theo rolled his own eyes at his friend's reticence and removed himself from the floor, slapping Draco's knee on the way up. He returned to the tome he was studying before Draco entered and after a half minute more, Blaise did the same, typically keeping his comments to himself.

Unfortunately for Draco, he actually wanted to know his friends' thoughts, at least on Granger. After everything he endured over break, he would like some confirmation that he wasn't fucking everything up.

 _And Granger was most definitely something to not fuck up._

Draco went over to the desk where the boys were mumbling although as he drew near he watched Theo scramble to vanish a parchment's writings.

Stowing away that curious piece of information for later analysis, he crossed his arms and glared not-at-all convincingly at his best mates. His confidantes. The ones he trusted above all others to tell him if he was being a wanker.

"I don't believe for a second that you two do not have some opinion on me and Granger," he gritted, his voice dipping in volume at the end. Blaise mirrored his stance and raised an infuriating, omniscient eyebrow. "Oh?"

Draco thought he would implode from the insecurity.

"Indeed." He ground the word between his teeth until it was dust. "You are born and raised blood purists. That counts for something."

Blaise shifted his head slightly so that Theo fell into his peripherals; for once the gabby git stayed silent and just waved Blaise on.

"Did it for you?"

Draco opened his mouth automatically but the prepared retort died on it way up his throat. Speechless he stood, his body relaxing unconsciously into contemplation. In truth- since Draco had become all about truth, the damn witch- his birth and heritage have always played a role in his and Granger's relationship, from the minute he learned this extraordinary bushy-haired monstrosity was a muggleborn, all the way up to the last torture session Bellatrix doled out in the hopes of loosening Draco's tongue.

At the beginning though, the blood purist thing wedged itself like a chaperone between the two so that much of the time, neither Draco or Granger could properly see around it. Then this past summer, with the unexpected turn of events, Granger caught a glimpse and the overbearing brat hadn't stopped shoving at that wedge of a chaperone until it fizzled to just a shadow that trailed Draco- a part of him but not all of him.

He felt his face scrunch in disgust at the sentimental turn of his thoughts. Refocusing outward, he caught the expectant stares of his friends.

"It did," he sighed, unwilling to vocalize more.

Blaise placed a reassuring hand on Draco's shoulder, squelching a tremor right before it fanned out from his center. "Same," he said, the one word as warm and satiating as coffee.

The moment of quiet connection broke when Theo suddenly leered at the blond, goading, "So why in the hell are you still here?"

Unsteadily, Draco moved back to the door of the dormitories feeling a bit as if he inhaled too much of that smoke in Madam Puddifoot's that lured you into a bit of a trance. He vaguely turned back to Blaise and Theo once reaching the exit but found them to already be re-engaged in whatever act of high-handedness they thought they could pull behind Draco's back. _I'm wounded, not brain dead. Idiots._

Once the frigid quiet of the dungeon corridors seized Draco, he realized he wasn't entirely sure how to get to Granger, or if she was even looking for him. At a pace much attuned to his still-recovering body, he set out for the Room of Requirement knowing that if by any chance either were looking for the other, they would start there.

The long, arduous trek up to the 7th floor had Draco wishing grudgingly that he swiped a DA's coin; in hand he probably could figure out how to send Granger a message and avoid all these stairs.

Grunting, he stopped for a moment of respite on the 4th floor. Breaths panted out of him at an agitated pace while his weak muscles screamed in protest, unused to the level of exercise. Although it was the long way around for him, Draco hoped if he passed by Gryffindor tower that fate would take mercy on his battered body and summon Granger.

A flutter of black robes and the wink of a red/gold striped tie drew his attention to the opposite end of the corridor.

 _Ah, fate. Nice of you to hear my plea for once._

Despite her hair being pulled back in a ferocious twist, Draco need only feel the skipped rhythm of his heart to know that Granger was swiftly making her way towards him. He belatedly shoved his hands in his pockets, clenching his muscles around the tremor like an iron fist demanding obedience.

Granger's footfalls slowed. Her eyes, initially reflecting warm affection, cooled as they flicked over his body. Draco had forgotten that he looked like shit.

That contemplative coffee-colored stare reconnected with the tumultuous grey mist in his and for a moment, the entirety of the separation thrummed between them like an echo bouncing off the too-close walls, building and building, until Draco was sure that everything about Granger had been a big fucking miscalculation especially if she opened her mouth to ooze some unhelpful emotion…

Then Granger crashed into him, lips bonding with lips. A greeting long overdue, a welcome which gathered like nostalgia on his fingertips. And so on impact, although his body managed to absorb much of Granger's eagerness, his fingers curled into the half-moon crevices behind her ears stopped only by the monstrosity that was her hair.

He broke the kiss and she maneuvered him backward toward the study area while Draco murmured testily in the process of plucking pin after pin from her hair, "I thought I told you to never dishonor your hair like this again."

And she just laughed, unfettered. He fanned her now-unbound hair over her shoulders and center of her back before claiming her lips again. They met with firm conviction, moving with the smoothness and inevitability of a river's undercurrent until Draco opened his mouth exhaling invitation and the headiness of firewhisky, now faint on his tongue. Granger caved and the two unexpectedly collapsed into a chair.

Her curls fell like a curtain, casting their faces in semi-darkness. She giggled then climbed gingerly from Draco's lap, pulling her wand from her robe pocket. Never taking her eyes from him, she cast the contraceptive charm.

After that, a hurricane hit as clothes fell near shredded from bodies with skin smacking skin like the way rain pelted earth- relentless, merciless. Draco reclined back in the chair, unsure if he would be capable of keeping up with Granger but, eyes shining severely with recognition, she climbed atop and lowered herself onto Draco with a gut-clenching moan. With every pump of her hips, he morphed into the ground and she, the storm, raining endless sensation over his skin until the tremors from the torture and the tremors from her love making blended and he couldn't tell them apart.

He only felt cleansed. Holding her hips, Draco stared, entranced by her face, as she grew closer and closer to climax… he refused to release until she reached climax…

"Draco!" she cried out and she ground her pelvis into his, her inner muscles pulling his own orgasm forward.

As the long-separated lovers floated back down to reality, Granger remained boneless across Draco's heaving chest with her head buried in the crook of his shoulder. Their breathing normalized and only then did Granger mumble a bit brokenly into his damp hairline, "Do you want to talk about it?"

He closed his eyes forcefully.

"No."

oOo

Days rippled outwards into weeks and Hermione settled contentedly into a routine with Draco. Like the moon, he came into her vision unobtrusively- a small nod during meals, a flick of the eyes in classes- and like the moon, his quiet colorless luminescence shuddered through her with no contact at all.

A blush pinkened her cheeks. No contact was a tad misleading. The heat traveled downward, burning a path right to her… _all right. No contact was extremely misleading._

While Draco had been near invisible during the daylight hours, he gleamed at night. The two would sneak away from their perspective dormitories to meet at the Room and after a hurriedly closed door and unguarded exchange of smiles, they would fall on the closest piece of furniture like passion personified.

Lips never tired of each other, hands always sought to map new territory.

And every single time that Draco sunk into Hermione, she felt the sensation like an embrace that she hoped to keep hold of.

And every single time that they prepared to part, Hermione asked if Draco wanted to talk about things. Every single time- no.

Hermione clamped her lips against a rebuttal because the tremors had dissipated and the exhausted visage had been replaced with the usual Malfoy good looks. So, she smiled her acquiescence and departed after a gentle squeeze of his hand.

About three weeks into term Hermione found herself in the library for her weekly study session with Theo. Now that Hermione had been "accepted" by Draco, Blaise on occasion saw fit to join them to read books that Hermione couldn't decipher the title of, leaving the atmosphere considerably tenser. She tried a few times to strike up some camaraderie with the enigmatic Italian but usually just ended up lost in his brooding black stare so now they only nodded and left each other alone.

Theo just guffawed at their awkwardness. This evening, though, found only the two academics bent over a pile of ink scribbles while they puzzled their latest Arithmancy assignment. Their heads were so bowed, in fact, that neither heard the approach of a visitor.

"Hello Hermione. I knew I would find you eventually… just always in the last place you look!" Luna's voice floated over, breaking the engrossed pair from their focus. The blonde Ravenclaw smiled at Hermione before looking to Theo.

"Theodore Nott," she greeted. He just stared blankly, the silence spiraling to awkward lengths.. "Are you suffering from laryngitis?" she asked.

Theo frowned before replying, "No. Why?"

With a few steps Luna came flush to the table, levitating materials from a chair so she could sit. "Well, it's typically customary to echo back a greeting."

Perplexity gave way to agitation as Theo smirked a bit meanly and nodded in her direction. "Loony."

Hermione glared at her study partner slash superficial friend and then cautiously turned to Luna, already prickling with anxiety at what the perceptive witch was here to impart. The three stared between each other. Luna did not seem rushed to speak on the topic that brought her to seek out Hermione. The prickling became unbearable.

"So, Luna," Hermione said a bit forcefully, "what brings you here?"

Luna, in her radish earrings and serene smile, turned misty grey, mischievous eyes on her.

"Draco Malfoy."

Theo choked as Hermione felt a cold sweep of uneasiness chase over her well-insulated skin. Eyes glinting, Luna turned to address Theo. "You know Theodore, I could make a gurdyroot infusion that would help tremendously with that indigestion."

Hermione started shoving her school things in her bag, intent on isolating Luna before the conversation spiraled any further out of control. To be frank, though, she expected a lot more competency by Theo with regards to his conversational skills.

He glared through overlong russet fringe. "It's Nott to you," he replied.

 _Oh brilliant retort Theo. Bloody brilliant._

She rolled her eyes at Theo and stood, tugging on Luna's robes to indicate their imminent exit. Luna flicked the levitating materials onto the now half-empty desk. She flashed a smile at Theo as she backed out of the library nook, offering a parting- as well as frustrating- remark.

"Well, _Night,_ you must call me Luna. It's only fitting." Hermione tugged the girl out of sight and down the aisle. She wove them in and out of the maze of aisles, past the Astronomy section...down the Magical Beasts aisle… to her second favorite secluded nook in which she spun Luna into the admittedly less comfortable armchair.

"Pardon me Luna," Hermione heaved, the anxiety fuel in her esophagus, "but what in bloody Merlin's name was that about?!"

"I like Theodore Nott."

Hermione prayed fervently. "Luna!" Then she punctuated the scold with a vigorous shake of the blonde's shoulders.

"You really must work on your social skills, Hermione," Luna expounded lightly but reoriented herself. "I just wanted to say I believe that green dress for Slughorn's party worked."

Hermione considered for a moment feigning ignorance but expected the conversation would only end up brutal for a much longer stretch of time so she sat across from Luna- in _her_ armchair that was much plusher- and asked bluntly, "How did you know?"

Luna patted Hermione's clenched hands, as if consoling a dimwit. "I used my eyes. It's remarkable how often people look but don't see. At first, I saw Draco and the way he suddenly gravitated towards you, even if he fought to stay on the outer edge of the orbit."

Hermione's brow scrunched in skepticism but Luna continued. "So then I watched you and how, where once Harry, Ron, and you were inseparable, more and more you drifted on your own. So obviously I put one and one together and it's made two. The two of you!"

Luna's logic was really just ludicrous, Hermione concluded, but also blasted right. She reclined in her armchair and folded her arms, disengaging from Luna's touch.

"So. You're not surprised or… or disapproving? Of the two. Of us. Together?" Hermione puzzled lamely, feeling altogether flustered at her present incapacity to match wits with Luna.

Her somewhat friend laughed lightly, the sound delicate as a trickling brook and yet, just as resolute. "I told you that I see. It's really no surprise. As for disapproval, who am I to judge? It seems you have a good effect on him. Even the wrackspurts from first term have vacated his head!"

And with that, Luna waggled her fingers and left Hermione to her tumultuous, tangled thoughts. On the one hand, it was a relief that someone knew about her and Draco, if only to lessen the burden of secrecy weighing on her shoulders. She wagered that his best friends have also been made aware, if only for their tacit approval in her existence after 6 years under the same cavernous roof.

On the other hand, she knew that Luna's eccentricity was all that kept her from speaking hostilely about the relationship and Luna was, indeed, one of a kind. She would in no way receive the same blanket acceptance from… others. In the passing weeks, it's become harder and harder to not blurt out everything to Harry and Ron despite the inevitable fallout.

Something which she knew would most emphatically be inevitable.

Hermione cast a tempus charm and knew that Draco would be already waiting for her. _That something could be put off just a touch longer._

oOo

Draco was not, in fact, waiting for Hermione. He was, at present, near the 1st floor staircase that would bring him up, up, up to their assignation point except for the tiny inconvenience of Pansy. Blocking his path, she bared a razor-sharp smile that gave him pause, enough to realize that perhaps there was more to her presence than just annoyance.

"Draco, we don't spend any time together anymore," she whined with wide, dark eyes studying him. The least academic student in school, _studying_ him.

"I've missed you. Won't you let me help you on whatever you're working on all alone?" The question was pointed, leading down a road he dared not travel. _No. This is certainly more than just annoyance._ The hairs on his neck raised.

Draco looked down his superior nose at Pansy as he tried to side-step her and her curiosity. "I don't need your help," he sniped. Fortunately, though, she let him step past her where escape beckoned him.

"Not according to the Dark Lord," she invoked quietly. Like ice, the calculated words coiled down his spine and froze Draco in place. He had thought Hogwarts was his haven; turning stiffly back to Pansy he found her satisfied smirk in place after she finally succeeded in throwing down a gauntlet.

He apparently thought wrong. "Excuse me?" He eked out through resentment-clenched teeth. She ran a hand entirely the wrong shade of skin tone down his left arm to stop significantly on the cusp of his Dark Mark.

"We've never had secrets from one another. Why start now?"

Draco stared, his mind churning with all the awful possibilities that brought Pansy- his once-love interest- to be standing in front of him running suggestive fingers across his rigid form, to spew poison like it was liberation.

"Let me help you, Draco."

Then the worse possibility came to pass. An utterly frazzled Granger came barreling around the corner that led to the library, spare parchment streaming from her chock-full bag. Curls shrouded her view until she pushed them back with an agitated hand, giving herself the likely unwelcome picture of Pansy and Draco together. She stopped dead and stared, emotions flicking over her face in rapid succession even as she tried valiantly to school them.

Too little, too late. For once in Pansy's sodding life, she interpreted the undercurrents and as Granger regained composure and walked toward them, Pansy ran a hand down Draco's chest and struck like the fucking snake she is.

"Aw. Mudblood took a fancy to you? How terribly disgusting. See Draco? You _do_ need my help."

Granger escaped up the stairwell, towing that obnoxious bag and his bitterest frustration with her.


	27. Envy and Evasion

**A/N: Short little chapters to gobble up as we meander our way towards the end. For those who celebrate, Happy Thanksgiving and cheers to a lovely kick off to the holiday season!**

* * *

 **Envy and Evasion**

" _I want to step into your great unknown, with you and me setting the tone." -'I miss you' by Adele_

Nearly an hour later, once he could finally shake off Pansy and her persistence, Draco stalked off to the 7th floor reciting his entire argument under his breath because he damn well wasn't going to lose to Granger in their first fight… even though the irony of the situation was that he wasn't even mad at Granger.

He was mad at himself. Fucking furious with Pansy.

Either way, he was vying for a fight and after months of uncertainty poking holes in all of his well-honed beliefs and after weeks of unexpected emotions coloring his perspective wrong, he was going to be bloody right about something.

The door was already conjured when he reached the 7th floor. It was different, stark black with a matching door knob, but Draco's attention had already strayed to who waited beyond the wood. He opened it and caught eyes with the only thing in the room.

"You shouldn't have stared," he began, feeling the blood rushing through his veins in a torrent of something much too close to fear. That realization only kicked up his ire but before he could unleash his prepared argument on his reckless, too-emotional witch, she countered.

 _Reckless indeed._

"Why not?" Granger had crossed her arms, cheeks high with color as she turned up her nose in her attempt to hide the hurt wavering in her eyes. Draco felt like breaking something but there was nothing in the bloody room to break.

Stalking forward, he anchored her with one hand to the hip and another on her chin, forcing her full focus back on him. "Because," he gritted, "your face is an open book."

They were locked together, eyes on eyes and skin to skin, as the heat of their interaction blazed a trail through Draco making him feel simultaneously like kissing her and shaking her until she challenged back, "Oh? And what is it saying?"

Something much fiercer than desire melted Granger's gaze; Draco immediately stepped back, too fearful of being scalded. Still too intensely aware of his fate. He knew the futility of believing in Granger's look, even as it seared to his soul.

 _No. Absolutely not. Focus on the issue at hand, arsehole._

He narrowed his eyes as if to study her expression. Then, "You're fucking jealous of Pansy fucking Parkinson?" Granger took her own disconcerting step back. The shift in conversation tripped her as she rambled, "Yes!" Then she recalibrated. "No! I mean, I'm jealous of the idea of her."

A long perfected sneer curled Draco's lip as he conjured a chair to collapse into. The argument had quickly lost its potential to soothe his furiously ruffled feathers and so he shuttered his face into a mask of malice, hoping to intimidate Granger into silence so he could properly sulk. Draco forgot that Hermione Granger couldn't be intimidated into, well, anything.

She walked slowly towards him, emotion quaking in her voice. "I'm jealous that she can sidle up to you whenever she fancies and run those ridiculous pink-manicured fingers down your chest." Draco's eyes flicked to the ink-stained tawny fingers of his girlfriend. His blood unwillingly thrummed.

"As if she has the right to do such. And she doesn't." Granger dropped to her knees in front of his slouched form, seeking his gaze and his understanding. Seeking so much more. "She doesn't."

When Draco could trust his voice not to betray him, he snapped back, "So what? Are you ready to defend us all day, every day? Not like that's even a remote fucking possibility."

Her eyes echoed the bleakness of his tone. She pulled in a breath and leaned into his chest. "I think it's time you finally tell me what's going on."

Whatever temporary tenderness reached through the physical contact bled out of Draco as she spoke, the unbrooked finality in her tone putting him on edge once again. He pushed her from his chest and looked toward the ceiling beseechingly, if only to escape Granger's probing stare.

"I don't know how people mistake you for being bright," he said testily before standing and giving the damnable witch his back, "because I know you know that there's no bloody thing that I can tell you."

Granger shrieked her frustration. "For Merlin's sake, Draco! When will you trust me? Never?" The question fell like a stone between them, untethered as it was to an answer which Draco regrettably did not have. He'd liked to have trust for her but the concept remained as rare as unicorns, for the truth remained that this girl he'd taken to shagging holds the knowledge to destroy him.

Draco turned back to her now. This girl with her too-transparent face that sent ripples of awareness through him, and he sidestepped her query because truly Draco couldn't even trust himself.

"Pansy's going to be a problem," he said, the admission husky and hesitant as Granger's eyes glistened with disappointment. She remained quiet and pouty and Draco prayed to Salazar for patience. "She's been sent to spy on me. Cozy up. Keep me focused on my task instead of whatever girl that's been distracting me." He spat this as he found the verbose justification on his part a touch too pitiful; hitting such a low had him considering leaving the room until Granger worked herself out of her snit.

The admission- despite its vagueness- seemed to be enough to turn Granger's mood from sulky to surprise. Draco watched her brain churn through the events of the evening, analyzing it all under a new light, the reworked conclusion clear in her eyes as she walked over to him and traded a kiss of apology.

Starving for the physical contact, he wrapped a hand around her neck to delay her retreat, reveling in the heat of her skin as it seeped into him. Although the tremors had dissipated a little less than a week ago, touching Granger continued to soothe in a way Draco couldn't quite articulate. If he could manage it he'd spend the whole of his waking hours skin to skin with her.

Instead he only had a few hours each evening for the luxury and so he indulged, moving the hand at her nape down the spine of her back before pushing her full against him and kissing her hard. He thrusted his tongue into her open mouth, tasting the essence of Granger with every tease of her tongue, and despite the situation not requiring an apology from him- he was right after all- Draco needed her to understand something.

Breaking away from her mouth, Draco kissed a trail along her jaw to her ear, leaving sentimentality in its wake. "Don't waste your time being jealous of Pansy. You might not be able to acknowledge me," Draco stopped to nip her earlobe, inflamed by her little gasp, "but she's acknowledging Malfoy. Flirting, unsuccessfully I might add, with Malfoy."

Draco moved away from her ear to lay his lips at her temple where the orange scent of her skin mingled deliciously with the rosemary of her hair.

"While you," he whispered lowly, "have Draco,"

Though his eyes were closed, he could almost feel the strength of her pleased smile thrum through his body.

"Really? Draco's all mine?"

A small smile of his own curved his lips. "Yes, Hermione."

It wasn't long after their make-up snog that both Hermione and Draco slipped separately from the 7th floor corridor to make their ways back to their perspective dorms. Hermione gave the password to the Fat Lady and strolled into the Gryffindor common room, the set of her shoulders looser than they've been all evening.

That is, until she saw Harry. He sat alone at one of the round tables in the room, out of the way of a groping Lavender and Ron, with his head bent studiously over an all-too-familiar battered piece of parchment.

"Hi Harry," she said, cringing inwardly at her overly-bright tone.

"This map is maddening," he said absently, folding the flaps in on themselves in a manner that suggested extensive use of the item.

"I've been checking for an hour and I didn't see Malfoy on it." He carded a hand through his black hair. "And now! There he is, reappeared in his common rooms. Come to think of it, I don't think I saw your name either. Where were you?"

The lie rolled off her tongue, "Prefect rounds. Must've missed me." The truth, however, bubbled like bile in the back of Hermione's throat. She choked it down, knowing it was unhelpful to spew at present, at least until she untangled Draco from Voldemort's messy web.

Looking at her best friend's frustrated face however, she realized her logic didn't keep the betrayal from tasting bitter.

oOo

February blew in harsh and cold with Draco and Granger's relationship going from infuriatingly distant to chasm-wide.

It was enough to bring a tick back into Draco's right eye. After the fight-turned-snogging, session, Granger skipped their usual daily meeting in the Room two days in a row, sending Draco into a fit of temper.

 _I mean, I was sentimental for fuck's sake. She can't possibly still be pouty._

And unfortunately he couldn't ask because he wasn't about to just hand over information on a silver platter to Pansy, who had taken to following him nearly everywhere.

Yes. Definitely a renewal of the right eye-tic.

On the third evening, Draco retreated back to his dorm room for some peace and considered, in his own pique of pouting, that Granger may have delivered a message via the journal. And so he tore through his trunk, sliding the false bottom back after a clever little unlocking spell, and flipped to see he was right.

~Feb 1

The castle has become tedious to maneuver as of late, now that all students have kept inside the somewhat warm walls. Too many bodies on the stairs and bored eyes roaming the corridors. It leads to rather tiresome rounds as a prefect.

Huh. He forgot he should have been keeping up with those. Bloody hell.

Harry has become rather tedious to be with as well. He remains determined that Malfoy is up to something and so every spare second he has, he's trying to track him to figure it out. He has his ways, of course, of tracking everyone and refuses to be deterred. I see no way of this ending well. Tomorrow's a new day, however and I'll go searching for perspective then.~

Draco snapped the book shut and put it back in its hiding place, not feeling one bit satisfied by being proven right. As if it wasn't enough to have to out-maneuver Pansy, he now had to consider this abhorrent idea of Potter, bloody fucking Potter, with his mysterious ways of spying! With no one around Draco drooped rather inelegantly onto his bed, folding his arms behind his head as he contemplated options.

Like his mother told him to do long ago.

Cursing Potter with something nasty sounded satisfying and effective, something Draco would be willing to do and risk the fallout with Granger if it weren't for the fact than an unprovoked attack would clearly identify him as the guilty party.

No, for the time being he would have to skirt around Scar-Head, just like he now did with Pansy.

 _I'll add another tedious thing to your list, Granger. Hiding. Hiding has become real fucking tedious._

Draco sighed as an inexpressible option hovered like a snitch just inches from his grasp. Somehow, though, he didn't think that was the option his mother had in mind when she spoke to him, months ago.

The dormitory door opened on a groan and Blaise stuck his head around the creaking wood. "Professor Snape wants to see you," he said once his dark eyes caught on Draco's prone form. The blond sighed again, the intention in Blaise's statement further flaring his black mood.

Draco cleared his throat inarticulately as response to hearing Blaise then waited for his friend to leave before ascending from the bed to redress in robes.

Snape stood on etiquette, as it were.

Draco made his way into the common room, ignoring much of the activity that buzzed around him, except for Pansy who flitted over to ask him where he was off to.

Not deigning to reply, he flicked her fingers from his arm like an offensive piece of lint and then proceeded out the fake wall. He took his time as he walked down the dungeon corridors to Snape's office, entering the space around 10 minutes after Blaise announced the man's request. In his godfather's eyes, it was 9 minutes too long.

"I believe you need a refresher in Occlumency," was his greeting as Draco stepped over the threshold and immediately felt the sullen man barge through Draco's mental walls like a gust of wind.

Unprepared as he was, Snape got a crystal-clear view of the memories Draco had just been replaying in his head, diary entry and all. Fortunate though he was Draco felt properly motivated to kick his godfather from his mind. Draco's scowl deepened when he saw- unsurprisingly- not a shred of repentance on Snape's face.

"Did I or did I not say you were playing a dangerous game?"

Draco knew the question to be darkly rhetorical, as his godfather was too efficient a man to waste breath on repeating words, so Draco smoothed out his face for the sake of respect and attempted to rein in his emotions.

Something 6 months ago he'd never thought he would struggle with. Although 6 months ago he'd not have forced his godfather to repeat himself either.

"Now, in addition to the Dark Lord's chaperone, you've roused the suspicions of Potter?"

The young Malfoy's ire returned but he answered Snape's question equitably enough. "They are mutually exclusive."

Even to Draco's ears that sounded pathetic.

Snape's pitch-black stare narrowed on him. "How long do you think it will remain that way?"

 _With my luck, not long._ A sigh slipped accidentally from Draco's lips, answer enough for Snape who squared off and pressed himself back into his student's mind like it was a door unlocked and welcoming of visitors. This time, Draco concentrated on stowing away the intimate moments with Granger, although again he failed to completely obscure his strengthening affection for the lioness.

Snape's consciousness dodged those feelings as he searched the complex coil that was Draco's mind, stopping as he landed on the painful replay of the torture doled out over the holidays. Although the physical pain had been long resolved, Draco resisted the purposeful lingering on the memory and promptly ejected Snape once again from his thoughts.

Teacher stared at student as the heavy panting of breaths was squeezed from bodies worn by exertion. In some ways, the mental battle always turned out to be more draining than any physical task.

"Was she worth it?" Snape finally asked, the words so utterly flat that Draco could balance on them all night if need be.

As straightforward as the question may be, it left Draco grappling. For once he traded Slytherin cunning for honesty.

"More like inevitable."

Something akin to agony spasmed across Snape's usually stoic face. The show of emotion further drained Draco for he knew it was a dark day indeed when his godfather was actually moved by something as bland as honesty.

Silence, pervasive as the dank took hold in the room. Despite just starting the lesson, he was already tired of it. "Sir?" Draco prompted when his enigmatic godfather made no move or sound.

Eventually Snape responded only, "Again."

oOo

The following day dragged for Draco, as if the hours were stuck in smog too thick to navigate, a feeling he blamed entirely on Snape's Occlumency lesson the previous evening. The tic behind Draco's right eye was visible evidence of the headache that was screaming its existence, leaving the Malfoy heir with a limited attention span and a nonexistent patience.

So when Pansy snuggled in close during supper, Draco snapped.

"For fuck's sake, Pansy! Can a guy get a little bit of room?"

Across from him Blaise and Theo actually paused in their eating, startled by the vitriol he spewed. Pansy just looked nonplussed. No longer hungry, Draco shoved away from the table and stomped out the hall, all the way up to the 7th floor where he prayed- for Granger's sake- she was waiting.

Thankfully, a door stood sentinel in the otherwise deserted corridor. Overheated, beyond flustered, Draco worked to loosen his tie as he moved into the room. The bedroom of past meetings lays waiting past the threshold; Granger stood by the desk, poring over an open book.

He unhesitatingly stalked over. Granger continued her perusal but started to say absently, "Oh good, we don't have a lot of- " before Draco spun her around, backed her against the table, and kissed her.

She gasped at his onslaught which gave him unfettered access to her mouth, so he dipped his tongue in. Followed the line of her teeth. Tasted the remnants of sugar quills as her tongue met his and the sweetness chased away the misery of the last three days without her.

That reality almost buckled Draco's knees.

The kiss, while fervent, eventually fizzled out to lazy little pecks of affection before Granger reluctantly pulled back to capture Draco's eyes. "You okay?" She whispered into the slice of space between them.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Squeezing her hands, Draco stepped back to prop himself on the edge of the bed. Granger's inquisitive stare bore into him and the quiet that had followed their passionate greeting seemed violent almost, like the charged air before lightning strikes.

Draco cut through it with his accusation. "Were you ever going to tell me that Scar-head had a way of seeing my every move?"

Granger bristled, her body stiffening even as her eyes dropped guiltily. The unvoiced contrition did nothing to diminish Draco's sense of betrayal, a feeling the snake was utterly unfamiliar with after keeping everyone at nearly arms' length all his life.

The heavy feeling in his chest didn't get a chance to build much steam though as Granger rather unexpectedly evaded his question entirely. "Want to help me practice nonverbal spells?"

He crossed his arms. Granger's lips tilted gently, pulling his attention, and a single tentacle of warmth stretched out from his chest lifting his mood ever so slightly. Startled, he looked from the coy gaze through golden lashes to Granger's right hand fingering her vinewood.

"Drop the cheering charm," Draco gritted, valiantly failing to smother the spreading warmth.

Gripping her wand more firmly, Hermione's smile widened as she closed her eyes briefly to focus. Canaries appeared. Draco finally unfolded from his unyielding posture.

"You. Wouldn't. Dare."

"Am I a Gryffindor? Or aren't I?" With a dramatic flourish, Granger brandished her wand above her head but Draco beat her to it and vanished the birds with a flick.

The animosity all but vanished with them as the lovers parried in the silence of their sanctuary, throwing half-hearted Stupefys that bounced off shimmering shields, until finally Draco slipped a tickling spell behind an expelliarmus.

Granger immediately collapsed into joy as giggles tumbled from her mouth uninhibited. Draco bit his tongue before he said something stupidly sentimental; instead, he moved towards her and wrapped the exuberant witch in an embrace.

"You okay?" he said slyly. Granger soon quieted, her cheek pressed against his steadily beating heart.

"I asked you first."

Draco just squeezed her closer. She sighed.

"I want to talk to Dumbledore about you."

A taut pause in which Draco's heart quickened considerably, before he squeezed again- only this time in warning.

Bright witch that she was, Granger knew that was an emphatic no.


	28. A Wild Week

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, lovelies. The latest chapter I'm working on is a behemoth and I hate not having a buffer so I tried to give myself one via a delay in the update schedule...didn't work, but the story must go on!**

* * *

 **A Wild Week**

* * *

" _Everything you want is on the other side of fear." -Jack Canfield_

-TUESDAY-

A week later, in the darkest hours of night, Draco was prodded awake by Theo and Blaise.

"Fucking hell," he grumbled when he saw his two friends, enveloped in his bed curtains with their serious faces lit by a lumos' soft glow. With his brain still fuzzy from sleep, Draco bolted up wide-eyed, thinking immediately that his unfiltered cursing woke Crabbe or Goyle.

"Relax," Blaise breathed, "we cast a Muffliato."

Draco's body loosened slightly in the silence that followed although his eyes flicked impatiently from Blaise to Theo and back again.

"Well?" He finally uttered.

Blaise blinked in the blackness.

"You never told us there was a new complication."

Draco clenched his jaw, hoping for patience long lost. "You didn't need to know."

"Wrong, mate." Theo finally piped up. "You underestimate Pansy's persistence."

Draco's heart thudded so loud that he wondered if the Muffliato could contain the sheer volume of his panic. In the silence, he listened intently for tell-tale signs of his former minions' wakefulness, all the while breathing slowly through his nose in an effort to reclaim sanity.

 _That ship likely sailed long ago._

The trio sat in silence as the minutes stretched in the eternity that was nightfall and maybe five minutes or maybe an hour later, Blaise finally broke it.

"How's things going with the repairs?"

Draco thought how best to answer since he truthfully hadn't worked on the Cabinet since returning for second term. The 7th floor belonged to Granger and him now and he wasn't in the business of ruining that.

He settled for, "It's going."

Theo, with his perceptive sapphire eyes flashing, inquired, "And how goes it with Granger?"

Draco didn't speak for half a minute until he was sure he could infuse nonchalance in his tone. "She's going." _Always going actually and never staying. A bit bothersome, that._

"And coming too, I reckon."

Twin punches from both Blaise and Draco hit Theo, his yell so loud that if the Muffliato wasn't working the other boys would most certainly have been jolted awake.

Lucky for them, the silence held.

-WEDNESDAY-

"Why won't you let me help you? Do you really want to fail at this?" Pansy beseeched at Draco's back as she trailed him down the 1st floor corridor. He had spent an excessive amount of time in the library as of late, hoping for a glimpse of Granger, before Pansy tracked him there.

"Draco! I asked you a question!"

The witch wrenched at his robe sleeve, the bitterness of her tone dissipating any of the softness still left in Pansy's expression. Draco stared unblinking, thinking on her query. The unadulterated irony was that he indeed felt like failing at this one task, if only to deter the Dark Lord.

If only to remain slightly worthy in Granger's eyes. If only to achieve something purely at the hands of Draco, instead of the Malfoy family.

He almost said as much to Pansy before the possibility of his dead mother assailed him; it was enough to curb his impulsive, foolish tongue.

"If I told you once, I told you a hundred times, I don't need your help." Draco made to stalk off, even as her voice hounded his heels.

"I know about your visits to the 7th floor, Draco. Hopefully the frequency of those visits aligns with the progress report that the Manor is expecting to receive."

Escape seemed futile.

-THURSDAY-

 _"Want to help me practice nonverbal spells?" His arms were crossed and Granger's lips were tilted as the cheering charm seeped warmth into his body._

 _"Drop the cheering charm," he gritted as Granger raised her wand challengingly to conjure birds._

With a firm shake, Draco felt the release of Snape's consciousness from his mind even as the warmth from the memory still clung to his tense midsection.

"A remarkable witch…" Snape drawled, "A shame non-verbal spells will be no use against the Dark Lord."

Whatever good feeling Draco had been gripping from the memory bled out of him at the taunt in his godfather's words. Draco glanced up briefly from the stiff collar to Snape's unforgiving stare and sickness swiftly filled the now-empty space of his midsection. Snape continued the one-sided conversation.

"A fair guarantee for the witch considering your lamentable focus to the task."

The accurately-voiced observation hardened Draco's resolve. Squaring off his shoulders, he nodded at his godfather for another go.

Snape entered as briskly as ever but Draco felt renewed in his motivation, tucking away Granger into the camouflage of his consciousness all while drawing out memories of classes or friends.

 _Success… so sweet…_ and yet, Snape was not deterred. His search became more insistent, fingernails against the walls of Draco's maze-like mind testing for weaknesses and a voice, heard from a distance, curling into the cracks like some insidious fog.

"I don't need to see to know…

That what I seek will destroy you…" Draco felt himself pull back as if in defense, his mind going studiously blank even as fear permeated every square inch.

"...and then, I'll destroy her."

That single word broke down every defense that Draco proudly put in place and the memories flooded out, too many to truly decipher except for Granger's face with those multifaceted eyes in every variation splashed across the expanse.

Hurt, intertwined with anger, rose up like bile at the base of his throat and Draco corralled the energy, directing it up to the chaos of his mind and clearing it much like a wildfire would sweep through detritus. The force of his focus was so strong, it knocked Snape right into his desk.

As a result, the energy left Draco slick with nervous sweat; all of a sudden, the depth and breadth of his circumstance felt heavy like the Earth as if he were already buried six feet under the cold February ground.

"How am I supposed to do this?" he murmured.

The question was not beyond Snape's hearing. Somberly the man righted himself, black robes fluttering to quietude around his stiff, standing form. Draco gazed up at his godfather with an ignorant hope that an answer to his question would be forthcoming… but Snape did nothing more than stew in silence.

Until stonily he said, "Again."

-FRIDAY-

Hogwarts was bedecked with all manner of Valentine-related decor, much of which escaped Hermione's notice as she absently picked at her dinner of roast and heart-shaped biscuits. The week had been a long one and afforded neither Hermione or Draco any time to connect with one another, an act that was becoming all the more critical and yet dangerous to do.

Pansy now materialized at Draco's side nearly all the time, be it morning, noon, or evening, and her tenacity curbed Hermione's mounting desperation to be with her boyfriend. Especially when the witch's dark eyes became fixed on her.

Harry broke through her reverie as if he could read the turmoil all over her face. "Parkinson's staring at you again, Hermione. What could you have possibly done to hack her off?"

Hermione shrugged as she forced another bite into her mouth. _More like impossibly done, Harry,_ and she looked at her friend with a keen sense of misery. Every day the secret of her impossible dating of Draco became heavier to carry, like a millstone that grew with time. It didn't help that her one and only idea to help Draco- ask Dumbledore- was resoundingly shot down by the stubborn snake.

Sparing a glance at Ron, who was cuddled up with Lavender halfway down the table and then back at Harry, Hermione wished that she could just get advice from her two best friends. Unfortunately that advice came with a price and she doubted she'd like the sound of it anyway.

Just then from across the hall, she spotted Theo extricating himself from a cluster of 6th year Slytherins; he scanned the hall as he made his way to the exit and openly signaled Hermione about his intention to study, an action not lost on a usually clueless Harry.

"I don't know why you spend any time with the snake," he criticized. Hermione gathered her things to leave.

"He's a good study partner," she said pointedly, to which Harry blushed and muttered his farewell.

Hermione left gratefully for the library which promised ample distraction for a Valentine's Friday evening; over the course of the last fortnight, her study sessions with Theo increased to be a couple meetings a week and their conversations occasionally strayed from Arithmancy much to Hermione's delight.

Thus it was with audible relief that the Gryffindor sank into her respective seat in their usual lonely corner of the library, Theo already smirking from his languid position.

"Always so beleaguered. Perhaps it's time you learn something from me, Granger."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And what is that?"

Openly grinning now, Theo called for a bottle from his school bag.

"Frivolity." He passed the non-descript bottle over, allowing Hermione to take a hesitant sniff. Her eyes widened.

"That's firewhisky!"

"Ah, familiar with the brew? I should give you more credit, Granger."

She gaped at him as he retrieved the bottle and conjured shot glasses. "But… but," she sputtered, "I'm a prefect! I'm held to the rules! And for Merlin's sake, we're in a library!"

As Theo's eyes twinkled with cerulean mischievousness, Blaise appeared from the dark strip between rows, his face twisted with disdain.

"What are you shrieking about, Granger?"

Caught off guard as she was by Blaise's apparitional-like entrance, she stared blankly before Theo stepped in with a quip.

"Frivolity," he near sang, while gesturing to the bottle. "Care to play?"

Blaise took a seat nearest to Theo, the only indication of his acceptance of his exuberant friend visible in the tilt of his brow. Hermione glanced between the two snakes uneasily.

"Play what?"

"Never have I ever," Blaise responded, already sounding bored; nevertheless his eyes had turned calculatingly dark on Hermione. The uneasiness crept like a rash across her skin as she floundered for a response to Theo's question. Playing games… and with two snakes… even if they were friends of Draco's left her terribly vulnerable.

The boys gazed rather passively, an expression she considered to be rather neutral on Blaise's face since he typically couldn't stand to even greet her. The observation made her all the more paranoid but, despite the apparent risks, she wondered on the information that could be gleaned from the two.

Draco's closest confidantes. Closer than Hermione could ever hope to be. The temptation of potential knowledge tickled her newly-acquired impulsive streak.

"Rules?" she inquired. Theo grinned pure wickedness before casting a Muffliato.

"Simple. Someone states a 'never have I ever'. If you have, you drink."

She scrunched her nose skeptically. "That's it?"

"For the love of Merlin," Blaise interrupted, "feel free to take all evening deciding. It's not like I have anything better to do on Valentine's night than be in a library with a Gryffindor." The disdain in his tone reminded Hermione so much of Draco that for a moment, her whole body constricted from longing.

"You can start Theo," she said softly although her eyes never left Blaise.

Theo jumped right in. "Never have I ever… broken a school rule."

Staring rather incredulously at Theo, her stomach sunk as she reached forward to rather inelegantly pour a shot. Hermione threw it back, fire trailing to her belly. Blaise poured his own shot and Theo asked, "What school rule, Granger?"

She glared, the expression quickly distorting to one of horror as she felt the truth work inexorably up her throat. Blaise hesitated with his shot.

"Motherfu-"

"Too many," Hermione spat at Theo who relaxed in his chair like some self-satisfied king.

"Give one specific instance."

Hermione considered biting her tongue until it was lopped off and incapable of turning against her but the Veritaserum-laced brew was too strong.

"I once stole Potions ingredients from Professor Snape's private stores." She exhaled angrily. "You are a slimy snake, Theodore Nott. How much serum is imbued in that whisky?"

Theo sighed, albeit not repentantly. "Hardly any. I wager a shot would gain an asker one, maybe two questions."

"Bloody hell, Theo, you don't even warn us?" Blaise growled but his housemate and friend just jeered and nodded to the full shot in Blaise's hand. He drank it and upon swallowing, ground out an answer before anyone could ask.

"Magic in the hallways."

Still out to learn what she could about these boys- despite Theo's conniving ways- Hermione demanded clarification. "What kind?"

The undeniable pressure from the Veritaserum could be seen in the reflexive swallowing of Blaise's throat, the resentment in his espresso eyes.

"Mostly shields and the occasional jinx." He inhaled and relaxed, as if set free from the potion's grip. "Draco's always been a bit of a target to the older years due to his mouth."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She wondered idly about whether Blaise had other instances of magic in the hallways that he avoided saying; she, herself, knew that she could manipulate a bit which information gets released under Veritaserum.

Either way the answer was lost to her now. She turned her mind to a statement that she could propose that would garner valuable information for her. Looking across to the boys she ventured, "Never have I ever been a blood purist."

Blaise, surprisingly, sat back in his seat and turned anticipatory eyes on a now-disgruntled Theo; as he poured his shot, Hermione couldn't help but prod Blaise.

"Really?"

He smiled humorlessly. "Astonishing though it may be, I don't like you for you. Nothing to do with blood running through your veins- magical or otherwise."

Theo kicked back his shot.

"It's true. Blaise just keeps his head down like the snake he is."

"And you? Do you not care about blood?" Hermione asked frostily. She simultaneously anticipated and dreaded the truth that was about to tumble past Theo's teeth for although she could be content with shared tolerance between Blaise and herself, she'd come to bloody like Theo.

"Not anymore. Which you would have bloody well learned without coercion if you were _brave_ enough to ask me outright."

Hermione buried her embarrassment. Blaise pressed forward. "Never have I ever cast a dark spell."

Hermione sat back, relieved, until she noticed Theo reach forward with stiff movements to pour another shot, regret for suggesting this activity sketched across his face. Before he could throw it back, however, a disembodied voice floated dreamily from the darkened aisles.

"Shouldn't you classify what's dark?" Luna's enigmatic gray eyes blinked into view.

Hermione groused. "Luna! What are you doing here? How could you even hear the conversation?"

She ignored the latter question and instead replied, "I came for Theodore," as the boy in question nearly dropped his full shot glass. "I sensed that he required assistance."

He swallowed the whisky and glared. "I don't need help and you were uninvited." Ignoring him, Luna turned to Blaise. "Technically, jinxes and hexes are a form of dark magic. It's all about intent and a diffindo can cut an apple as easily at it cuts into skin. But I imagine you meant something more sinister."

The stoic Italian studied Luna like she were an undiscovered magical species, then turned to Theo and asked not unkindly, "Name one dark magic you've performed."

A half minute silence prevailed in which Hermione wondered if the serum would still compel Theo to answer; yet remarkably she watched as Theo's face softened with some unfathomable understanding.

"Cruciatus curse. My father felt early on that it was important to be well-versed in all forms of magic. He always wagered You-know-who would return. That such skills would be needed then."

Theo's eyes fell closed at the statement like a criminal awaiting the damning blow. Where Hermione and Blaise remained silent, unjudging, Luna cleared her throat delicately before conjuring another shot glass and ingesting some firewhisky herself.

"Luna! What are you doing?" Hermione exclaimed rather lamely. She felt the potency of the truth as well as the alcohol was mixing curiously in her blood, such that the whole evening near simmered in surreality.

"Drinking," the blonde blinked slowly at Hermione's sluggish observation.

"Why?!" Hermione tried again.

"Because I've done dark magic."

While Hermione gaped wordlessly, Theo swooped in with near-vicious curiosity.

"What kind?"

Luna looked to Theo. "Blood magic. I wanted to connect to my mother after she died."

Awe dropped like a curtain around the present company and the emptiness of the library roared in the interim; that is, until Theo murmured, "Did it work?"

"Mm." Luna hummed. "Just not in the way I would have expected." She placed her shot glass down with a click of finality that broke the hushed spell and then she moved on.

"Never have I ever lied to a friend." The three remaining players shifted in their seats. Then one by one they filled their shot glasses, Hermione scrambling to throw hers back in an effort to expel her betrayal on the tailcoats of impelled honesty.

"Harry and Ron. They don't know about Draco yet. They wouldn't understand."

Luna patted her hand consolingly, an action that startled Hermione. "They fail to see the bigger picture just yet."

"Can anyone?" Hermione responded wryly, bitterly. Luna only smiled, turning to Theo who just swallowed his own liquid betrayal. Blaise followed in quick succession, the only explanation given being a curt, "Our answers are identical."

"Who was it, Theodore?"

"Is." He choked out. "It's Draco." He turned pained eyes on Blaise, silently begging for a relief Hermione wagered he didn't expect he'd need when the game started. _Oh the dangerous potency of alcohol and truth serum. A truth serum imbued with truth serum._

Firewhisky muddling her brain, she just caught Blaise's merciful takeover of the confession.

"We want Draco to have an option in the event… things turn south." Hermione perked up at that, then took over the questioning.

"What is it?"

Theo turned green from the force of holding back the answer which Luna inexplicably distracted him from after running a finger across his outstretched palm. Hermione, however, focused on Blaise who clenched his jaw to the point of cracking.

"An escape hatch," he uttered before exhaling violently. The spell of tension broken, Theo withdrew rather testily from Luna and the party of four was once again divided by a table and distrust.

Truth did little to assuage skeptical minds. It was also no use for bruised hearts and thus came as no surprise when Theo re-straightened in his chair and turned blazing eyes on her.

"Never have I ever been in a fight with Death Eaters."

Being a little less drunk, Luna took the whisky and poured her shot, then Hermione's, which shocked the snakes so much that their expressions actually mirrored it. The girls drank simultaneously. Hermione raised an eyebrow, expecting a tongue lashing of her role in Nott Sr's imprisonment; funnily enough though, she was ignored.

"Loony, what in bloody hell were you doing at the Ministry?" Theo half-shouted.

"I was part of the DA and there when Harry got word about his godfather."

"What could _you_ do?" Blaise asked flatly and a strange sense of protectiveness flared in Hermione's chest.

"Plenty," she snapped loyally. "She remained calm under the pressure of ten Death Eaters attacking us. She led the defense when Ginny broke her ankle and Ron got hit with some weird spell." Hermione breathed heavy through her ire, even as the Veritaserum dissipated in her blood. Although the night was young, she wondered if the four of them would truly go on with this game; however she needed information and she wasn't leaving until she got it.

"Never have I ever," Hermione stated, "assisted a Death Eater."

For the first time that evening, Luna looked surprised by the information being shared but at the deliberate shift in Hermione's eyes, remained quiet and reposed in her chair. The boys, conversely, clearly wavered between taking a shot or forfeiting the game.

Another first.

With her hands turned upwards, soliciting, she looked to these snakes-turned-allies and tried to wordlessly impart her longing for knowledge. Her desire to help. The gut-wrenching fear she, too, shared for Draco.

Together the boys took their shots and awaited Hermione's inquiry, who chose to barrel in with a lion's straight-forwardness.

"What's the task?"

Theo replied. "We don't know."

"What are you doing to help, then?"

Blaise cleared his throat at this. "Reading. Lots of reading of texts that contain information on how to repair magical furniture. He won't let us know anything more than that."

Impatience swelled in Hermione as her time with the aid of Veritaserum ticked down but she was cut off by Luna who vanished the glasses and stood.

"Perhaps you can ask him directly since I believe he's here to see you."

Draco, swathed in shadows, startled only slightly after Lovegood's pronouncement. Once he deposited Parkinson in the common room after dinner, he stealthily doubled back up in attempt to have a few, long-overdue, stolen moments with Granger.

He knew where he would find her. What he didn't know was that instead of studying, he would find a drinking game among four non-friends with not even a Muffliato for cover. Instantly upon approaching he threw one up and then tuned in on the conversation, anger mixing potently with fear as secrets were half-revealed, as non-friends became undesired confidantes.

Before he could barge into their midst in a self-righteous snit, Lovegood inexplicably announced his presence and then those troubling gray eyes were in front of him.

"Hello Draco," she said quietly. "Thanks for putting the Muffliato back up," and with a quirk of her lips, she made to move past him.

"Lovegood," he snapped, not enjoying her particular brand of unsettling, "I need your word on your wand that you won't speak of anything that was said tonight."

Her smile widened, as if it was some pleasure to hear his terse order. "I, Luna Lovegood, so do vow that I won't speak on what I heard." Then she left.

Blaise and Theo were next to depart, their faces so impassive as to give nothing away, at least until Draco's face darkened with betrayal. Theo moved to speak but Draco brought up his hand in warning.

"I abandoned Pansy in the common room," he said and his friends nodded their understanding, slinking off to the dungeon.

Moving to the edge of the brightly lit study alcove, he observed Granger as she hunched over something and muttered nonsensically. After a moment she straightened with a little sigh of satisfaction, turning to finally catch his stare.

Steel hard. Angry. Aflame with the ache of being so close but not touching.

"It's been too long," she said a touch wistfully. Granger moved forward, slipping whatever was in her hand into his robe pocket; he attempted to pull it back out for a better look but she entwined her fingers in his, trapping them against the wooden shelves behind him.

Trapping his attention in her lust-lit eyes.

Minds melded, they met in the middle as lips crushed in a bruising kiss. Granger brought her free hand to his chest and pushed him against the shelf fully, deepening the kiss with a bold sweep of her tongue.

Draco groaned, frustration and desire in equal parts rushing through his blood, but the feel of her slight frame trembling in the small space of separation had him ignoring his ire, for now.

Gripping her hips, he thrust forward and felt the potential underneath the layers of clothes. But the library was no place for such illicit activity. Draco unlatched his lips, just now realizing the heavy flavor of firewhisky on her tongue.

"I should not be surprised," he murmured a bit bitterly since he was aware of the game they were playing. "You always were the misbehaving sort," he scolded before nipping the curve of her jaw and pushing her back.

Granger stared, glassy-eyed, and Draco couldn't tell whether it was from desire or drink. The bitterness inside him turned black.

"I don't know how you expect this thing," he gestured between them, "to work if you are going to try and betray me when the opportunity presents itself."

The glazed expression cleared from Granger's eyes and she crossed her arms in stubborn resolve. "Not betray. Support." Her voice lowered, "we just want to help you."

Pride reared its ugly head at the wretched "h" word.

"Oh, and I'm sure you believe that Saint Dumbledore is among those that would help?" They stood off against one another as stubbornness infused their stiff limbs and unyielding minds and although Draco was beyond hacked off, he mourned that the first time in a week they were together was spent at odds. And on the insipid holiday of love, no less.

Mentally rolling his eyes, Draco considered what he could do in their waning moments together, but Granger - as usual- beat him to the punch and rushed towards him, locking her arms fiercely around his neck.

She mumbled into his skin there, emotion making the words thick. Intractable. "Draco I- " Pause, hesitant and hedging, "I hope you like the little gift. It seems we speak in flowers now." She kissed him and then whirled past.

Draco swallowed past the lump in his throat and then returned to the dungeons, disillusioning himself before ghosting through the entrance of the common room, past Pansy scribbling in an armchair, until he was ensconced behind his bed curtains.

He reached gently into his pocket and pulled out a loosely tied bouquet of blue violets.

It took him a near hour looking through some of his least-thumbed-through tomes but when he found their meaning, Draco quirked his lips in a moment of rare affection.


	29. The Dual Blade of Success

**A/N: Apologies for the late update! I promised myself to get this up before the holidays but you know how all that people-ing eats into an introvert's time. Luckily the delay put me five chapters ahead in this story so I feel confident in dropping the next chapter sooner than my usual two weeks' delay! Enjoy, friends.**

 **Also, since I don't believe I made a note at the end of the last chapter, blue violets are symbolic for love and trustworthiness.**

* * *

 **The Dual Blade of Success**

* * *

" _I never change. I simply become more of myself." -Unknown_

The good feeling didn't last past Sunday morning; as Draco peacefully ate porridge sprinkled far too liberally with brown sugar, he received mail in a forward-slanting scrawl that made his blood run cold.

Draco unlatched the letter, treated the owl, and then left his unfinished breakfast to grown cold and congealed. The castle was quiet in the early morning hours of the weekend, when students indulged in lie-in's, giving Draco the freedom to pace the halls. The letter sat heavy in his right hand while the Hawthorn twirled nervously in his left and his mind raced with the sinister promise that nearly pressed through the parchment.

Draco calculated all the horrors that could possibly await him etched in innocuous ink and the panic that had dissipated since the holidays flared like a barely coaxed ember. As he paced, he found himself in a spare classroom that he could close himself in with a locking charm. Weak winter rays filtered in through the windows. Draco used a fingernail to break the wax on the letter and slipped it out, revealing the same harshly scrawled letters in the expanse.

 _It does not bode well when I receive a progress report from one of your peers before you, Draco. It begs the question as to what you're doing if not your task. Perhaps Snape can gather a few recollections for closer inspection?_

All at once the parchment turned to ash, crumbling into the ether like the breath of death; it reminded him too much of Voldemort on the night of Draco's marking. He shuddered as the specks of parchment rained down onto the floor like dingy snowflakes. Almost wearily, he vanished the remains of the letter before slipping back out of the classroom and up to the 7th floor. He mentally requested the door for the Room of Lost Things, the room that he avoided since before Christmas.

Stepping across the threshold, the view of stowed-away furniture and books, broken quills, and forgotten relics seized him with its awful familiarity but the task was still incomplete.

And Draco was still slave to the Dark Lord's command.

He reached the Vanishing Cabinet and took a seat in the chair that had made its home a couple meters in front of the imposing furniture. Knowing there was no point in avoiding the inevitable- and also appreciating the distraction, no matter how distasteful- Draco began work on the Cabinet immediately. At first he chose to mumble through the spells he discovered to operate the Cabinet, absently flicking his wand in precise movements until everything came back naturally.

The casting remastered, he moved to stand in front of the Cabinet, cocking his head thoughtfully, before calling out, "Accio Cornish Pixie!" Faint whistling preceded the little blue bugger; as it came into reach Draco shot out his right hand and grasped the creature firmly through its agitated little spasms.

He Immobulised the rodent and then placed it inside the Cabinet. One fortifying breath through his nose and then Draco was speaking the spell as clearly and confidently as possible. Hope sprung eagerly in his chest when he heard the small 'pop' but he suppressed the feeling, even after checking the Cabinet to see that it was empty.

He waited a moment, marshalling his control around his rapidly fraying nerves, before intoning the spell to bring the bloody thing back.

When he opened the Cabinet, Draco found it dead. The body lay still and crumpled in on itself with its eyes reflecting the glassiness of beyond.

Draco closed the door slowly, accioed a pail from some mystery location, and promptly vomited his half-eaten breakfast. On its travel up his throat, the acid burned through whatever meager hope had nerve to subsist in his body as he physically and unwillingly emptied all his fears into the bottom of the bucket.

The smell of sick seared his nose. It coated his tongue unpleasantly. Once the heaving subsided, he vanished the evidence entirely, making sure to include the pathetic blue corpse with the spell. Then he rummaged to find a cup, cleaning it rather manually- much in the way he used to do dishes at Granger's- before casting an Aguamenti.

Draco wanted to gag all over again as the acidic taste in his mouth would not be swept away by even the purest of water. It had the twisted reminiscence of this burdensome task that could not be swept away even by the brightest of souls.

Two months. Nearly two months he'd been wrapped up in Granger. Then a single, thin piece of parchment was all it took to bring reality crashing down around him. The partial success of the Cabinet was temporarily uplifting but he knew it wouldn't satiate Voldemort.

All that would? Doddering Dumbledore's head on a platter. _A fucking bloody impossible task…_ since Draco was certainly no murderer. He was a pathetic excuse of a Death Eater. The lone Malfoy heir? He hardly even stood up to that name as of late. No, he wasn't much of anything really…

Inflamed, he threw the cup into a nearby pile of rubbish, the heavy weight of it disturbing the precarious tower until it was crashing down around him.

"Draco?" The voice rang out, clear in the echoing den. He panicked, not at all fooled by the tentativeness in the tone, so he hid out in the wide open perching himself nonchalantly in the vacant chair just as she rounded the corner. His heart still studded not unpleasantly when he saw her.

Granger skidded to a stop when her eyes caught on him.

"Draco! What happened?"

She moved forward, her pace reminiscent of the first time she found him here. He instantly resented the regression.

"What was that noise?" Granger tried again, although the question held no urgency. Draco shrugged in response, his eyes flickering down to his feet.

The panic from earlier faded into a grudging contentedness in seeing her- the first two days in a row, in a while- and yet logically he knew he needed to be focused on the Cabinet.

Progress was priority.

Nevertheless, as Granger crouched in front of him, laying a hand on his knee as her eyes met his, dark from unchecked desire; all he could think was _Hang logic._

Draco lunged forward, snaking one arm around her back while the other broke their fall as he crushed his lips against hers. They were open on a gasp and his tongue slid in, an appreciative rumble in his chest as hers wasted no time dancing around him.

He kissed her languidly, charting her mouth for the thousandth time and yet never tiring of her mischievous little flicks or the taste of unvoiced sentiment. He imagined his tongue was saturated with that too.

After a minute or maybe five, he pulled away to cast a cushioning charm and she hastily swiped her wandless hand across her belly, activating a contraception charm... Granger then lay on her back to shimmy out of her jeans and knickers and Draco followed suit, staying her hands before she could get to the cardigan.

"You can't deny me a second longer," he gritted. Then he lined up against her perfectly wet core and surged forward. Her walls undulated around him at the swift intrusion and Granger choked out around a moan, "Oh, God. Draco. Please." His pace picked up considerably at her plea.

"With pleasure."

Draco slammed into her, his fingers gripping her waist with bruising strength that he assumed he would need to heal later, as she arched her back to press closer with every surge. The emerald green cardigan that never made it off kept riding up her sides and on some dizzying impulse, he knew he would allow the bruises to stay if only to know that he marked her. Her face was flushed all over and even though Draco's thighs trembled from the forceful exertion of pounding into Granger, he couldn't help but want to encapsulate this moment for future reference.

For the next time he was so utterly at loose ends, this moment could remind him of who he was when he was stripped bare down to unadulterated Draco.

She orgasmed then and the view of her taut from sensation were so arousing that he kept pace until he drew a second one from her. As she faded Draco continued to pump, until she wept nonsensically from the over sensitivity. Only then did he come. He ground his hips into hers, chasing the wave which, although enjoyable, did not measure up to the sheer satisfaction of just having sex with Granger.

Slowly he pulled from her, then fumbled for his wand to cast a quick Scourgify on both of their bottom halves before they moved to dress.

Draco stood away from her once they were covered, a curious kind of ache filling his chest now that they were separated once more by clothing.

Clothing and an unwillingness- at least on his part- to trust. The ache pulsed mercilessly.

"I haven't seen this place in a while," she said curiously, walking around him but allowing her fingers to brush against his. Draco remained steadfastly silent even as his heart started to pound as she neared the Cabinet.

After a moment Granger turned back to him, shifting focus like the wind.

"Did you like my gift?" A smile rose, unbidden, to Draco's face. He pressed his lips together to squelch it.

"What did you mean by them? Their symbolism varies."

Her lips pursed from humor, utterly distracting Draco from his former panic.

"Not very subtle for a snake," she said coyly, her amber eyes dipping behind her eyelash fringe suggestively enough to make Draco go hard again. "Are you hedging for something?"

 _Yes. Another round of shagging? Perhaps this time against a wall?_

Clearing his throat, he willed his body under control and then countered her leading question with one of his own. "And what might that be?"

Granger's eyes flicked to his and all the humor drained from the air; she edged closer until she could reach out and touch him, if she wanted to. But she didn't. All she did was whisper, "Trust."

Draco stiffened at the recurring subject, cynicism already crowding his lungs with disdainful words, but he fought against the suffocating feeling because it was too rare to have Granger in touching distance.

Draco was coming to appreciate rare things for the first time in his life.

Encircling her wrists, he pulled her closer and drank in the wide-eyed hopeful look etched on her face. "You're relentless," he murmured before kissing the side of her jaw.

She exhaled heavily before she managed, "It's part of my charm."

Draco smiled into the curve of her jaw, near the sensitive skin below her ear and she shivered in response. "Yes," he replied, "Much like stoicism is mine." Using a free hand, Draco curled her wild mane around in his grip so he could tug her gaze up to him; she looked ready to sputter some inane retort so he tugged harder.

Granger moaned.

"Don't," he said roughly, running a possessive hand down her torso. "Don't make me have this conversation again." For one unbearable moment, Draco felt too full of all the secrets he was keeping, too transparent from the lies he parried, that a single word of protest from Granger would crumble his fast-fading facade- a response he would gladly submit to if it meant he could revel in the simplicity of her.

His eyes connected ever so briefly with the Cabinet before feasting on her exposed neck, the tawny column vibrating from her suppressed need.

"Draco…" she pleaded and a heavy sort of despair hit him square in the chest. Because the simplicity of just Granger was a dream he could only grasp a few hours a night. A delusion born from desperation to exist in some alternate reality where there was no Voldemort and no task.

Wrenching her up, he backed her quickly toward the immense silhouette of the Cabinet. The gleaming dark wood, devoid of all ornamentation, seemed an utterly appropriate place to fuck this beautiful, brilliant witch, the symbolic antithesis of his task.

Draco inelegantly started pulling off her clothes. "Be with me, Granger," the words came rough over the want in his voice. A button on her cardigan got stuck so he rent the fabric. She shrugged out of it and went to work on his trousers, her lips tilted slightly upward at the bottomless need for them to be together. Connected. Bound.

Soon they were both bare in this cold and drafty room but the need to be inside her overrode Draco's more refined manners. Besides, her skin burned as he ran his hands from her hips to her arse. Lifting her flush against the door, Granger's eyes danced impatiently with golden flame licks of yearning.

Draco caved to the sentimentality of the situation and entered her torturously slow.

"Be with _me_ ," he groaned. With the utmost care, he pulled away from her slick heat. "Hermione." Face flushed, her hair was a tangle of a hundred shades of brown. She was chaos and fire, hearth and home, and he entered her again, then again at the pace set by her moving lips caressing L's and O's, gritting D's and rolling R's until she burned so hot he thought he would be consumed.

Death felt divine. And he welcomed it.

"Fuck, Granger. I need you to come," Draco commanded as he, without control, exploded. Granger came on the cusp of his, drawing out the sensation deliciously but not perpetually.

Eventually it had to end. She wilted against him, boneless, and so he just held her for a moment in order to soak up the feel of being skin to skin. The air cooled unpleasantly the longer they stood there.

"Your absence will be noted," he whispered into her curls, half hoping she wouldn't hear him.

Granger sighed wistfully as she moved away to gather her clothes, casting a "reparo" on the shirt he shredded. "Could you imagine what it would be like if we weren't made up of stolen moments?"

As she shrugged into her knickers and bra, back toward him, Draco thought about it and was surprised when a sudden warmth unfurled from his chest that simultaneously heightened and soothed the unnamed ache there.

"We'd probably murder each other," he said, the words tempered by the fondness in his tone. Granger turned back to him fully dressed, her vulnerability all wrapped up back behind those layers, and hummed noncommittally.

"Probably." She vaulted onto her tiptoes to kiss him lightly, her eyes half lidded and yet naked in their affection. "I meant all of it, you know. With the flowers."

Draco's heart thudded fiercely and he wondered if the sheer force of Hermione Granger's attention would bring him to his knees because he was completely confident that he never felt so much at once before.

The emotion was a knot in his throat, too much to even breathe around- let alone speak- but when Granger turned to leave, Draco anxiously grabbed her wrist.

"Foolish witch," as he ran a thumb across her pulse.

She smiled. "Your foolish witch." Then she disengaged and left Draco alone in the silent, cavernous room that swallowed up all his mistimed mutterings.

Later, when he ran into Blaise and Theo in their dormitories, he merely sat at his desk to draft a letter for the Manor.

 _To the psychopath fucking up my life…_

Draco vanished the words despite the sick satisfaction it brought to sketch them out. To make them visible. Tangible.

"Pansy's interfered," he said nonchalantly, lobbing the statement over his shoulder as if the news didn't bring the worst sort of harbinger.

 _To the arsehole… fuck. Need to be more pandering than that._

He ripped the parchment, barely registering the vocal distress from his mates who now moved to crowd him. Theo cursed and Blaise ruminated and Draco tried a third time to start his report.

"Did she- " Theo started before Blaise cut him off sharply.

"Is it just about you that she interfered?"

The quill blotted ugly on the parchment as Blaise's question sunk in; Draco jerked his head to look at his stoic friend, the one completely unenthusiastic about tolerating Granger. And yet, here he was, asking with regards to her, and Draco wondered what else happened two nights ago during that bloody game that would have so transformed Blaise's opinion.

"Just me," Draco confirmed before fetching a new piece of parchment to try yet again. "The Dark Lord is making threats."

The quill scratches on parchment filled the charged air. He could focus only on the half-truths he was etching in the letter for he knew if he looked up he would get lost in his friends' vaguely sympathetic gazes and he'd likely never return.

"Let's hope," he murmured more to himself than the rapt audience of two, "that this is enough to dissuade him from fulfilling on those threats."

Blaise and Theo collapsed onto the nearest bed. "What's your plan, Drake?"

The quill paused in its purposeful scrawl while Draco contemplated the question. Unfortunately, like much else in his life at the moment, he didn't have an answer for them. He also knew they weren't going to like that.

Draco exhaled angrily, agitated that honesty was becoming far too familiar a flavor on his tongue. At a time like this, he would have loved to deflect and avoid his friends' concentrated attention.

But instead he admitted, "I'm still working on that."

Theo cursed again and Blaise ruminated while Draco finished his report for the Dark Lord.

oOo

Monday morning came on a whisper of chilling February frost, every window crystallized and the Great Hall echoing a blue sky so blinding that it seemed more like a sheet of ice. No matter, as Hermione sat rather cheerfully at the Gryffindor table, burning agreeably on the inside.

 _I burn, I pine, I perish._ She smiled a little and stowed away the thought, wondering if it was worth quoting Shakespeare to Draco. Perhaps only for the satisfaction of confusing him- it had been quite a while, as it were. The smile on her lips blossomed.

"'Mione," Ron groaned as he sat diagonal from her, leaving Lavender a space beside him. "You're too cheerful for a Monday morning."

Hermione startled a bit at the direct interaction from Ron; since dating Lavender, he'd been too wrapped up to spare Hermione more than the time of day. Her ginger-haired friend leaned over the table for sausages, sleep still softening his features, and Hermione hurt her cheeks with the smile that would not fade.

Despite Ron's shortcomings, he always served to be a comfort when she didn't know she needed it. The reminder of his solidarity after such a disjointed year only bolstered the warmth fluttering in Hermione's heart. Affectionately, she poured some pumpkin juice and handed it over.

"It's a beautiful day," as her eyes drifted up to the cloudless clime above, "What's not to be happy about?"

That same buoyancy carried her down into the dark dungeon corridors where many of the Advanced Potions class waited for Slughorn to arrive. All the Slytherins stood off to the left of the door, Draco's pale head becoming visible since he faced away from the classroom. Theo and Blaise stood huddled near him, their eyes subtle but searching on Hermione as she reached the stretch of wall across from the Potions' door. Ron had opted to stay upstairs and gorge himself on breakfast under the pretense of waiting for Harry, a fact Hermione was happy to oblige as she hoped for one minute of unobserved gawking of Draco before class.

She tempered her smile when she caught Theo's stare, even though Belby was standing nearby and completely focused on a textbook. Yet the happiness of the morning soon faded once she turned her notice to Blaise studying her far too intently.

Immediately Hermione's heart plunged. She had nothing to go on except for the atypical attention from Blaise but she knew something was wrong. Her imagination swiftly went wild in conjuring up all sorts of horrific circumstances.

Was Draco hurt? Was he caught? Did something happen at home that he's being threatened with here? Just then, before her mind could gain much steam, Slughorn appeared in perpetual cheerful ignorance and let the class in with a, "Mixed house partners today, please."

Hermione's feet instinctually wanted to carry her to Draco's table… _hang the bloody consequences of such an act…_ but upon entering the classroom behind the snakes, she was stunned to find one waiting at her station.

And it was not Theo, like she might have expected. Hermione moved forward and proceeded to set up her station under Blaise's hawk-like stare. When the three staggering Gryffindors came in to see the switch in seating arrangements, she only managed a wordless grimace.

"Page 212, please. Let's try our hands at antidotes for love potions." The professor chortled and sent a pointed look to Harry that Hermione could not begin to fathom the meaning, not that she was more than superficially interested of what secret conversation transferred between Slughorn and her friend. Her curiosity was burning far brighter for the boy next to her who crisply flipped to the appointed page and started crushing sage leaves.

"Boil some water, Granger," he murmured and she did as she was told before scanning the antidote recipe herself. It all looked straightforward enough to her, the sage a main ingredient due to its powerful cleansing agents, so she was surprised when part way through brewing Blaise asked for help.

"You have to stir and drop the sage in simultaneously. I'd like to be meticulous if you don't mind," he said in terse explanation as she failed to move in aiding him. Hermione's brows scrunched in confusion at his rather transparent cover but she hadn't spent the class carrying the dead weight of dread in her stomach to turn down answers; so, Hermione moved to stand next to Blaise as she took hold of the stirring rod.

Of all the boys, Blaise was the only one to really rival Draco's height, which made the encounter even stranger as his lithe form threw a shadow across her own. Surreptitiously, she flicked her eyes over to the other tables and was relieved to find at least Draco beyond occupied in saving a potion from Ron's ineptitude.

Hermione clamped her lips against a smile.

Then Blaise leaned down as if to study the potion. Into the fumes he whispered, "Draco's been compromised."

 _No. No, no. Please no._ She watched the deliberate rotation of her wrist as the vast undercurrents of Blaise's words threatened to drown her.

 _Not him. Not now._

The stirring rod clanged over loud against the pewter cauldron. No one seemed to notice.

 _I haven't had enough time._ Hermione exhaled shakily through her nose, past the panic, and whispered, "What should I do?"

The fumes from the potion coupled with her shallow breathing turned the world fuzzy and as Slughorn moseyed his way nearer, Hermione figured she would pass out before she got Blaise's answer. To his credit, the snake coolly took the stirring rod from her after a reassuring squeeze to her wrist.

"Whatever it takes."


	30. The Dubious Definition of Trust

**A/N: Almost there, friends. There is about 8 chapters left from here, the last two being carefully plotted as we speak. I'd like to be optimistic and say the whole story can be up to live in posterity's (ha) halls by the end of the month but alas, optimism does not always beckon the muse. Thanks for chugging along!**

* * *

 **The Dubious Definition of Trust**

* * *

" _The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it." -Henry Thoreau_

Hermione had feigned sick- although for her part, the feigning came rather effortlessly- and she requested a trip to the Hospital Wing. Slughorn asked Blaise to accompany her but she insisted that she could make the trip alone; in this, it would be best if Blaise remained blissfully ignorant of her next actions.

As she left, Hermione could see the concerned glances of Harry and Ron as they alternated between watching her and glaring at Blaise.

What she could feel above all else was the piercing stare of flint gray.

It was a long walk from the dungeons to the Headmaster's tower but Hermione didn't mind as it provided her a chance to think through how to approach Dumbledore. For all that it had been a suggestion she made to Draco time and again, every refusal from him left her shelving the idea to pursue at a later time.

That time seemed to be now.

As the gargoyle came into view, Hermione wondered absently if Dumbledore was even in the castle. According to Harry- when he wasn't busy obsessing over Draco- Dumbledore had been leaving the castle on secret trips. She came face-to-face with the statue, nonplussed.

Harry never mentioned a specific password to enter Dumbledore's office, only that he had a predilection for candy.

"Um… licorice?"

No response.

"Toffee? Acid pops? Lemon drops?" The gargoyle immediately sprung aside and the stairwell spiraled upward. Hermione's trembling fingers ghosted across the stones of the narrowing tower until she reached the looming oak door. Before she could steady her fingers to knock, the Headmaster's voice rang clear through the wood.

"Enter."

Hermione stepped hesitantly into the now-open office, wide-eyed with wonder as her crazy curls whipped back and forth in her attempt to take everything in. Her eyes skidded over Dumbledore, snagging on first the Sorting Hat and then the legendary sword of Gryffindor.

Finally their eyes reconnected. "How- ?"

"Never able to let a question linger, Miss Granger," Dumbledore smiled indulgently. "As headmaster, I'm in tune with the wards so that I can foresee any arrivals to the grounds or my personal quarters."

Hermione stood and silently marveled over the complexity of magic; it never failed to surprise her that in her brief time submerged in the wizarding world, she had yet to scratch the surface of magic's capabilities. Even knowing that its power was not limitless, it was comforting to think that if she dug deep enough and learned hard enough, she could find an answer to almost anything.

After a spell, Dumbledore gestured a touch awkwardly for her to take a seat. Hesitancy, once again, clouded over her curiosity as she moved forward but stopped shy of actually sitting. Her nerves were making her restless.

Now that she was face-to-face with her suggestion, Hermione couldn't fathom what logic made this seem a reasonable course of action. Even with his kindly old face crinkled in all the right areas, she struggled on how to begin.

Dumbledore seemed to have a better hold of that as he gently prodded, "What brought you here today? I doubt it was questions about my wards."

Ironically, his attempt at humor had the opposite effect on Hermione as all of a sudden panic pressed on her chest so fiercely that she wasn't sure she could choke out the words.

"Draco. It's Draco," she eked out and those two words, their implication, strangled her on the way out. In desperation Hermione moved forward so she could lean on Dumbledore's desk. Now that she started, they continued to pour out inarticulately.

"Headmaster he's… not by choice, you understand, he's a Death Eater. Well, perhaps it was by choice but… it doesn't matter because now I know… I know he doesn't want whatever is making him so haunted. And he's being tortured and-" Hermione groaned her frustration, her hands pulling tenaciously at her loose curls as Dumbledore stared at her in legitimate shock.

"He needs help. Draco doesn't want to be a Death Eater. And that side knows it."

Eyes shining from unshed, frustrated tears, Hermione knew that her explanation left much to be desired and as Dumbledore remained placidly sitting in his seat without a word uttered, she began to piece together that the explanation may actually have been unnecessary as well. She pushed back onto her heels forcefully, an awful ripple of awareness chasing down her spine.

"You knew," she said lowly. "You knew what he was the whole time."

Their gazes were locked, unflinching, and enigmatic, the silence fragile like a bubble until Hermione's indignation shattered it.

"Did you know he was being tortured? That he would lose his life if he didn't complete whatever task Voldemort gave him? Or perhaps you know what the task is and thus unconcerned of the potential outcome."

The blue in Dumbledore's eye flashed. "Miss Granger," he intoned, like her name was the tail end of a whip.

The verbal scold quelled her, but only just, because Hermione was certain that the Headmaster did indeed have intimate knowledge of the task if it was the thing to impel him to speak. _Unbelievable. And he's supposed to be the leader of the Light._

When she refocused her attention on the man, she noted that his expression had softened to one of contemplation, of study, before he continued the conversation.

"I admit to some surprise that you are privy to any of this…" he trailed off expectantly.

Hermione said flatly, "Surprise."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose fractionally at her stubbornness before changing tack. Sweeping out from his desk, he grasped a bowl filled with sweets in his left hand and tilted his head toward the chair. "Please. Sit down so we can discuss this fully. Care for a toffee?"

He offered the bowl and she grudgingly took hold of the tacit peace offering before sitting and crossing her arms. She thrust out her jaw in an approximation of "Well?"

"You have always been extraordinarily bright," Dumbledore started in a tone that, to Hermione, sounded a bit patronizing, "and so I say this to you respectfully- despite what you have learned about Mr. Malfoy, you don't know everything."

The statement stung; Hermione opened her mouth to argue but the penetrating stare over the tops of his thin-wire spectacles brooked no response. "That being said, I'd like you to trust me that all is well in hand."

 _Like I trusted you to have the well-being of all students in mind?_ The cynicism of the thought eroded away at whatever hope she initially had that this man- the greatest wizard of their time- would help her. Help Draco.

Hermione stuck the toffee in her mouth so the caramel sweetness would clamp her teeth shut. She sucked on it as Dumbledore stared at her, likely waiting for her acquiescence. In an entirely Ron-like move, with cheeks dimpled, she sucked noisily and was rewarded by the subtlest shift in the Headmaster's mood from hopeful to resigned.

He flared his robes out, one-handed, as he made to return to his seat, effectively dismissing Hermione. She mentally shrugged at the silent, super since the meeting had already disillusioned her; after grabbing her satchel she walked to the door, only pausing when Dumbledore offered a parting remark.

"Be sure to help Harry, Miss Granger. He's going to need his friends."

 _If that wasn't a gauntlet,_ Hermione thought sourly as the solid wood of the door met her back.

After casting a quick tempus charm and determining that her second class was about to begin, Hermione set to scurrying down the staircase in her attempt to get to Arithmancy. She turned a corner sharply, gasping when her body smacked into a solid chest.

Her heart sank when she glanced up to see Harry taking hold of her shoulders with Ron positioned just behind him.

Harry stared. "You weren't in the hospital wing."

Hermione's first instinct was to lie- a bloody tragedy, considering it was her two best friends- but she knew Harry likely checked the map.

She was also nowhere near the hospital wing. Suppressing a sigh, she answered her friend. "Professor Dumbledore intercepted me. He wanted to talk."

Harry continued to stare, confusing now coloring his eyes. "About what?"

Hermione wasn't too sure herself, making her response entirely authentic. "Helping you?"

Her dark-haired friend brightened at that, releasing her shoulders and then stepping back to make room for Ron. Nostalgia echoed through her like some song from childhood; she couldn't remember the last time all three of them conversed together.

"Well, he did give me this homework from his private lessons. Something to do with a memory of Slughorn's…"

As intriguing as that sounded, Hermione repressed her curiosity for the time being in order to get to class. She truly hated copying someone else's notes, not to mention that it was her last class with Draco for the day.

She cut into Harry's meandering thought process with a crisp, "That sounds interesting but we should get to class. We're already late."

Hermione moved around her friends to traipse down the staircase that just settled into place, choosing to ignore the fact that she very well knew they did not have class at the moment.

They seemed to ignore that fact too as they followed her down to the 5th floor. Harry dogged her determined stride with a stubborn sense of someone still at a loss of the whole picture. He asked, "You don't want to go to the hospital wing?"

Hermione cringed, before turning around to face the boys with a casual flip of her curls. "I'm feeling better," she lied.

Ron finally piped up, unhesitatingly. "Not looking it." At her look of betrayal, he threw his hands in front of him as a shield for her ire. "Listen, I just thought you valued honesty."

Hermione remained miserably silent to that.

oOo

Hermione did not make it to Arithmancy. She didn't make lunch and she skipped her afternoon Herbology class as well, despite the looming consequences of a studious soul like herself missing all those academics.

Because Hermione was, indeed, sick. Deep-in-the-gut, guiltily sick where sweat broke out on her forehead, when air couldn't circulate fast enough in her lungs causing stars to burst in front of her eyes.

The accumulation of secrets with Draco and secrets from Draco, plus the deception of her best friends had been precariously piled like a stone tower that was one gust of wind from toppling over.

And Ron's innocuous comment had sent it all crashing down.

As the guilt following that comment twisted in her heart, it was all she could do to remain normal as she stealthily slunk back to the dormitories. Once she was there, curtains closed tight around her with a Muffliato in place, she screamed until the pain of her circumstances turned to solace from release.

Eight months ago when she happened to look outside her window and see Malfoy walking down her driveway, Hermione's perceptions seemed pretty clear.

Draco Malfoy was a cowardly prat-turned-irredeemable enemy. But now she wasn't sure if she ever though clearly at all; _that_ Hermione Granger who eight months ago stood strongly in her beliefs was now weaving lies like poetry to her best friends. She was now allied with snakes in order to achieve her lover's best interest, no matter how underhanded it required her to be.

 _Why? What in Merlin's name changed?_

The screaming long stopped, her throat was still tight from the abuse, made only tighter as the realization hit her.

She was in love with Draco.

Hermione pulled the blankets tighter around herself, hoping to fully grasp the revelation as well, to analyze the way it shed light on her behavior over the past half year. But the feeling wouldn't cooperate; the love just expanded out from her chest- a sunrise's fingers shooting light- until her whole body hummed from the newfound clarity. The depression that sent her seeking asylum in her bed withered away to nothing as a new focus gripped Hermione.

She was in love with Draco. And she was going to do something about it.

By the time Hermione got a handle on herself, the afternoon had melted away into the lavender of early evening. All of her roommates had made stops in the dorm to drop satchels before likely heading to dinner. None bothered to check on Hermione. _They probably didn't even know I was here._

She had dropped the Muffliato and was sitting in silence amongst her bed linens, contemplating the best way to inform Draco about her failure with Dumbledore. She dreaded his reaction so much that she wondered if she could hide behind Blaise and Theo… _shite._

Monday meant study sessions with Theo after dinner.

Despite having no appetite, Hermione knew she had to show in the library, if only to collect the notes she missed today in her morning classes. Peeking out from her hangings she found the dorm empty. She stripped off her robes, now wrinkled, and then conjured a mirror to see how atrocious her face looked post-breakdown.

Her splotchy reflection cringed back; too much in a hurry though, Hermione cast a weak glamour to at least hide the red of her cheeks, figuring her puffy eyes weren't worth the trouble. The curls on her head looked especially unruly after a day spent in bed and would probably distract from them just fine. Hermione disappeared the mirror and then collected her things so she could head straight to the Library.

Unsurprisingly, Theo already awaited her, the recurrent flickering of his navy eyes belying the concern underneath his studious exterior.

Surprisingly, he wasn't alone.

Blaise had tucked himself into the corner where the shelf met the outer wall, his stoic silhouette nearly vibrating from anxiety.

Concern slowed her steps. "Did something happen?" She whispered, not satisfied when Theo pinned her with merely a look of exasperation.

"Fucking hell, Granger." He shook his head, too-long bangs hiding his eyes. " _You_ happened," he muttered this not at all discreetly.

Blaise stepped away from the wall. "What he means," he started, crossing his arms tensely, "is that the brightest witch of our age buggered off in the middle of first class and never returned. Do none of you Gryffindors know the meaning of subtlety?"

Hermione huffed, crossing her own arms to meet Blaise head-on. "I panicked, okay? What you said-" she looked to Blaise then and the flash of understanding- from him of all people- choked her speechless.

Almost imperceptibly, he loosened his shoulders as he maintained eye contact with her, fully explaining what had only been mumbled under the pretense of potions. "Over the weekend, Draco received a missive from… home. A peer who has been assigned to help," Blaise spat the word as a rare show of heightened emotion, "reported that he has remained distracted and so this missive Draco received, well, it was meant to provide some motivation."

The explanation, though vague, was terrifying, and Hermione cataloged the words as they tumbled around her brain like decoy detonators designed to distract, even though now was not the time to analyze them. She swallowed shakily and then wrapped her own truth in an analogy, hoping to soften the blow.

She was a bit tired of stabbing herself with her own words. "The variable I tried… it didn't work. And I don't know what will and it's driving me crazy that I can't help him." Her composure broke, the subtlety along with it. Lip trembling, she sucked it between her teeth to curtail the breakdown that neither snake would appreciate seeing. The three of them stood is silence so taut that she found it difficult to breathe through the tension. After a few minutes of Blaise and Theo not offering honesty or comfort, Hermione's turbulent emotions coalesced into frustration.

She lashed out to no one in particular. "Why won't he let me help him?!"

A snort of disgust sounded behind her. Hermione whirled around to find the subject of her ire standing at the entrance of the alcove. Draco was also stripped out of his robes standing dangerously relaxed in his oxford and tie with his hands tucked into his pockets. From the distance Hermione gathered they were likely clenched in angry fists.

Her eyes wandered up to his face and she found the expression as impassive as his stance. The skin, stone smooth, the lips closed but not pressed and his eyes- Hermione shivered at the glacial cold that hadn't hardened his eyes in a long time.

He cocked his head ever so slightly and said, "I didn't think you sunk so low as to talk about someone behind their back, Granger."

Hermione wisely stayed silent despite feeling as if he just slapped her in the face. Out of the corner of her eye she could just see Theo moved to stand; the boy had some Gryffindor nerve, after all.

"Drake-" he implored.

"I think," Draco managed tightly and all while keeping his eyes plastered on Hermione, "I'd like this conversation to be private. Zabini, Nott." He half-stepped to give them just enough room to leave.

The two snakes said no more as they just squeezed past Draco's form. Before they could venture out of earshot however, the blond turned his head in their direction and murmured dangerously, "Don't bother sticking around in the shadows. You won't be able to hear anything."

Then much to Hermione's apprehension-laced awe, he wandlessly cast a Muffliato.


	31. Confession

**Confession**

* * *

" _I am selfish, I am wrong, I am right I swear I'm right- swear I knew it all along"_

 _-'Vindicated' by Dashboard Confessional_

Draco thought it had no longer been possible save for that it was currently staring him in the face- Granger was scared. Of him. And he wanted to lash out at the irony of it all.

The girl who carried the weight of his existence in her too-curious mind, in a heart that burned with martyr-like fire, was afraid of the utter-excuse-of-a-Death-Eater.

For the time being, he tamped down on those emotions with his long abandoned Malfoy breeding, and just stared hard. Granger fidgeted restlessly a couple meters away, her appearance disheveled from the wild hair to her fidgeting untied shoe- a complete contrast to his unruffled demeanor. Distantly, in some far detached area of his brain, it struck him as unsurprising that the two of them had been drawn together as given the right circumstances they were exactly as Theo classified it all those months ago. _Coincidentia oppositorum._

The reminder pained him as he refocused on what brought him looking for her tonight. Some delusional concern drove Draco to the Library to find Granger, to allay the niggling doubt that something huge happened that morning. He even risked Pansy's cloying presence in order to get to Granger but instead of being pacified by her presence, he stumbled into an un-muffled conversation between his best mates and her essentially plotting behind his back.

His. Back. The youngest Death Eater of the current regime and not-insubstantial sole

heir of the Malfoy family. And they thought to cross him.

Self-hatred at the long-repressed identity markers co-mingled with the betrayal in his blood, a poisonous mix that seeped like ice along his veins until he was so full of the stuff he forgot what it was to be only Draco.

That boy-almost-man was now buried under layers of hurt brought on by her. Granger... _Hermione_. And she did nothing but stand there shakily.

"Well," Malfoy drawled condescendingly, "you could try to explain."

She flinched as if slapped. A moment passed and then, with false nerve levying her voice, "You would listen to no explanation I profess."

"Try me," he bit out.

The increasing agitation in his voice did nothing to motivate her and before long, the silence between them became so damning that he couldn't let it persist. Despite her downturned eyes and hunched shoulders, Malfoy couldn't hold back the blackness that was over taking him, rendering him unrecognizable as he verbally beat down on her submissive form.

"Speak!" he blasted.

Whether it was the high-handedness or sheer cruelty in his tone, Granger snapped back to her typical self-righteousness. She straightened her spine, her legs, her arms, until she was so stiff that her bones cracked. Hands on her hips, hair now crackling, she hissed, "Oh, I'll speak you arrogant arse. Eight months you've been on this path to your own self-destruction and much of that time the people who knew about it cared enough to want to help."

She inhaled for another round. "Yes, we've each alone pondered on potential options and yes we've approached one another for ideas or fresh perspective. All with the united goal of helping you." The admission cracked her voice into something husky in its honesty as she continued her rant. "I admit I panicked and went to Dumbledore," the comment pulled a sinister twitch from Malfoy's jaw and yet Granger persisted, "because _I knew_ that if there were help to be found, it would be with him."

"Oh really," Malfoy said silkily while his fingernails punctured the skin of his fisted hands. "And how did that turn out?"

Granger flushed and the blood ran through his fingers.

Clumsily she backpedaled as she demanded, "Do you think this behavior will intimidate me into apologizing?"

Draco stared darkly. "For betrayal? That seems too much to hope for," he scoffed as he rocked back on his heels too nonchalantly, afraid of what turn the self-hatred would take if he didn't slide a filter over it. He couldn't even allow himself the opportunity to become disquieted over her confession at the moment as Granger, unconvinced by his insouciant mask, growled her frustration. Marching right up to him until they were only a whisper apart, she yelled up into his face.

"It's not betrayal. It's love, you bloody prat!"

Slowly, Draco tipped his eyes down to his girlfriend, the heaving discombobulated mess that she was in front of him as his world narrowed down to a single point. The sentiment was unexpected. And terrifying. So terrifying, in fact, that the edges of his vision darkened with the lure of unconsciousness because oblivion would have to be better than dealing with the very concrete idea of Granger truly loving him.

Hermione Granger- _his_ Hermione, loving him and betraying him in one fell swoop.

Oblivion beckoned.

Draco felt bathed in blackness, the hurt of too many revelations that night battering relentlessly against his already fragile self-worth, like some ebbing coastline with no time to protest its own demise.

Retribution coaxed. So, refocusing on Granger who still stood like some obstinate statue, Draco channeled the hurt outward and onto the only thing that could sustain the beating.

"You can't twist this into some selfless act," he stated lowly, "because it's an act against me. Against what I asked."

Granger pried open her angrily pressed lips to argue but Draco sliced his hand through the air.

"No! You can't use your holier-than-thou Gryffindor ethics on me. What you did was wrong." _And for once I'm right_ , he didn't say, didn't need to, but the victory from such a truth finally falling on his shoulders was unsatisfying, at best.

He crossed his arms to shield himself even as she deflated; wobbly anguish tainted her eyes dark as coffee and proved to Draco that he had driven his point unequivocally home. He'd just have to get used to that hollow feeling inside his chest.

Turning to leave, he nearly bellowed his bleakness when the blasted witch started to ramble desperately.

"Draco! This can't be it. You can't possibly be throwing aside… I just told you- " a whimper broke the sentence but Draco would not bow even knowing that he never heard Granger so deflated.

She pressed forward regardless. "The only betrayal here is of yourself, Draco Malfoy. Since 4th year when you warned me off at the World Cup and I approached you during prefect duties to thank you- that impenetrable mask rippled under my kindness and I knew."

She breathed in courage, determination. "I knew that you were a loathsome git and something else. Something more. Something that I've just discovered this year. And now you throw it back in my face like it's some illusion you've played up and yet I'm the traitor?"

Indeed, that hollow inside his chest was going to swallow him whole.

"Yes," he breathed, then left her alone.

~Feb 20

I'm a bit at a loss for words. This 6th year at Hogwarts has truly outdone all my other years combined with regards to unpredictability. I battled a three-headed dog and saved a mass murderer. Rescued a hippogriff and went to the ministry to battle back Death Eaters but this year above all else has been quintessentially capricious. I'm not necessarily pleased by this observation.

In fact, I'm feeling more bereft than anything else because amidst all this chaos with the imminent war, with Harry, with Draco, the stress of classes and protecting my parents, there was at least one certain thing discovered. Love. Love became my clarity, the lens with which I put everything else into perspective. And yet it seems to have become an unrequited burden as well.

I've resigned myself to carry it around like some unsolved Arithmancy problem that just needs some reflection and a little communication, both of which I try and find every night in the Room. Every night. Perhaps both these things will come to me at last.~

Draco refused to leave his room that night. And every single night.

~Feb 25

No pretense. No poetry.

Just honest-to-Godric pleading that you give me a chance to explain.

All I want to do is fix this. Tonight, in the Room. Please~

Pain lanced through Draco's heart when he saw no mention of apology. So, he stayed in his room all the long, long night.


	32. Time and the non-healing of Wounds

**Time and the non-healing of Wounds**

* * *

" _Life is pain and pain will have to do." -Unknown_

Draco was not eating. It was breakfast time on a gloriously sunny morning and any food he could possibly want to sample was in front of him and Draco was not eating.

For even though all these circumstances were aligned just right, the day signified something else too and it was going a considerable way to put off Draco's appetite.

The day was March 1. It was the Weasel's birthday and in completely unimpeded purview, at a ridiculously rambunctious Gryffindor table, _she_ was celebrating with a wide, unburdened smile and a gift for the red-headed git.

Porridge never looked so pathetic. Grimacing, Draco nudged away his plate and bowl and settled on a cup of coffee, the cream lightening it torturously to a remarkably familiar toffee brown. As he sipped and stared, Theo had approached the table and tentatively took a seat on the bench across from Draco, effectively cutting off his view.

"Hey Draco," he ventured, as his eyes dipped down to the empty plate. "You eating?" The blond took a long sip of his coffee and wondered if he told Theo, his oldest friend, to fuck off if the brunet would then leave and let him stew at the Gryffindor table in peace.

He tried it. "Fuck off, Nott," the words utterly flat in their delivery, like a hand slap to the face.

Theo flinched like it was, though he didn't move, the bastard. Over another sip of coffee, Draco couldn't help but think what it said about this current rendition of himself that he couldn't even muster up a sliver of guilt for treating Theo so abominably.

Blaise sat down next to Theo, further impeding Draco's view, and gave a rare show of camaraderie with a nudge to Theo's shoulder before levelling a glare at Draco. Apparently Blaise didn't suffer from the same inarticulation as his brunet friend.

"And to think you're a Pureblood, with manners like that." Blaise squared off his shoulders and raised his eyebrows challengingly.

After the discovery of the three of them conspiring plus the subsequent fight with Granger, Draco retreated to their dorms proceeded to rake his friends over the proverbial coals for their part in the betrayal and while Theo surprisingly cowed to Draco's hurt-fueled rage, Blaise steeled against it with his own surprise- a steak of self-righteousness. And every time Draco thought to vent his seemingly perpetual abyss of bitterness, Blaise stubbornly lobbed it right back.

Draco refused not having the last word this time though so, after draining his coffee he leaned across the table until only inches separated them and then replied, "Funny that a traitor is going to talk to me about etiquette."

Blaise remained impassive in the face of Draco's vitriol but the blood drained from Theo's face. It was that image tattooed across the back of Draco's mind as he stalked from the Hall that solidified the belief in the monster he'd become.

Once reaching the relative peace and quiet of the entrance hall, Draco floundered on his next course of action. Being a Saturday and being that the weather was still bitterly cold, the castle was bound to swell from all its restless occupants. He considered where to hide out before being startled by a cool hand on the space between his shoulder blades.

Slowly he turned around, not at all surprised but still incredibly disappointed to find Pansy there.

"Where are you going?" She asked indelicately. Her eyes were dark as they bored into him but Draco couldn't see much past the tragic misfortune that for a moment he believed Pansy's hand to be Granger's. Wordlessly, he hied off to the 7th floor, knowing that Pansy would follow, knowing it didn't matter anymore because she achieved exactly what she was sent to do.

Remove the distraction.

Their steps echoed through stairwells devoid of students as the portrait-lined walls murmured inarticulately at Draco and Pansy's meandering. Soon, the two stood at the blank stretch of wall and, with the ease of breathing, Draco called the Room forth.

He stepped through to lead the way around towers of junk, absently practicing Occlumency along the path as he forcefully shoved all recollections of Granger in this Room to that back corner of his mind, empty as it was, now that all the forbidden thoughts have let loose.

The concern that once bubbled up inside him over such lack of control failed to surface; his focus needed to be elsewhere, he wagered, as the Cabinet came into view. The two chairs stood in the same place they've been since October and as Draco slumped into his, he closed his eyes against Pansy's speculative glance between the chairs.

"Has someone else been here to help you, Draco?" She sat and her knees near brushed Draco's with their proximity. He clenched his jaw at the wrongness of it.

Pansy persisted. "You know this task is secret. Anyone knowing could result in us being killed."

Draco's eyes popped open to find Pansy sketched with uneasiness and sincerity, the shock at her anomalous behavior not lasting long in the face of the Cabinet as it loomed overhead. Without speaking, he stood and paced, muttering inanely under his breath the spells he knew for the Cabinet, playing around with the inflection until he'd been at it so long that it all started to sound like gibberish. A string of syllables so protracted and warped that he could hang himself with them.

 _Wouldn't that be a fucking relief._ The motivation to work long lost, he ceased the , without speaking, Draco prowled the narrow trails of the room without regard to Pansy and if she was following. He figured she was, if only because she had become such a predictable shadow in the months back for second term.

In the past, he likely would have preened under such attention. Now he couldn't muster more than vague irritation for his once-love interest… and a misplaced sense of pity after her previously uttered, incongruent comment. _It's not like Pansy's the victim here…_ he grumbled inwardly, passing back into the main part of the castle that was still eerily quiet.

Pansy stood next to him. "It's been about three hours. Do you want to get lunch?"

The pause ballooned in the space between them. "No."

Draco wasn't eating. He hadn't been less hungry in his life.

oOo

Draco wasn't sleeping. 2AM and the dormitory was filled with the evidence of resting bodies; if he turned his head slightly to the right, he could discern the still, dark waterfall of curtains that Blaise had taken to pulling around himself, ever since the fallout over a fortnight ago. The physical barrier, hardly visible in the black static, only reinforced the cycle of self-hatred that Draco was embroiled in. But his friend refused to see Draco's side in any of it and for once in this bloody miserable year, Draco was not going to give in, especially knowing that he was _right._

Draco rolled over and saw the silhouette of Theo's bed. Theo faced him, the steady breaths barely audible over Crabbe's snoring, and yet the quiet exhales raked over Draco like hot iron.

And he deserved it. Even with all the privacy provided by his unconscious roommates, Draco tensed against a shout-sob pressing at the back of his throat because this pain, he deserved it. After how he treated Theo... after hoping that his friends would tolerate and perhaps accept Granger, the irreverent brunet exceeded all hopes and actually befriended the swot.

Even moved to defend her- and Draco shut him down and out like there wasn't over a decade of shared history between them.

It was times like these that Draco believed he actually deserved the monstrous mark on his arm.

Returning to his back, he stared at the plain stone ceiling shrouded by night and focused on his breathing.

Draco wasn't sleeping. He hadn't in awhile. It had been eight days since she wrote in the journal and he only wanted the screams of his mother in his dreams to end. They had re-manifested with a vengeance, along with the headaches that had all but abated when…

Draco slammed his eyes shut, abandoning that thought spiral. He lapsed into a meditative state behind his Occlumency shields, smoothing the walls until they were unrecognizable from that of his mind. The repetitive action of fortifying his boundaries lulled him into a state of semi-consciousness, of insecurity.

And that's when she came. No amount of persistence kept her locked behind those walls for long; it was as if she was light, making use of the smallest crack, landing on Draco as just a pinpoint of golden warmth.

That feeling, minuscule as it was, echoed that of their last shag in the Room… and then as the pinpoint gained strength, it blossomed into blue violets…until without any effort, the warmth Granger's mere memory evoked had Draco utterly lose the fight of forgetting.

Tiredly he pulled his wand from beneath his pillow and cast a tempus charm, the faint glow of the numbers throwing the Dark Mark in relief. The ever-present reminder- a villain unworthy of Granger's misplaced love.

3:06AM.

Draco wasn't sleeping.

oOo

Hermione sat facing the Slytherin table, mulling over the alarmingly dwindling list of options left to her. Draco had just sat down at the table, his back now perpetually in her purview, but even without more visual evidence she knew he was literally wasting away right in front of her.

His once-perfectly tailored robes now hung loose on his frame and he would have to steady himself each time he rose out of a chair, the vertigo of insomnia making his limbs leaden. When she could steal glimpses of him in class, her heart ached at the dark circles under his eyes, the papery thinness of skin that she once referred to as luminescent.

Her first instinct upon seeing him- this shell of his former self- was always to try and appeal to his razor-sharp intellect; logic should win out and then they can build from there. But he refused all attempts at logical communication, or communication in general, so she stepped back and figured if jealousy worked once, it should work again.

So on Ron's birthday, Hermione lavished attention on one of her best friends even as the cake tasted like ash, even as her smile felt so brittle it could shatter like ice.

Draco had swept out of the Great Hall with barely a flick of those mercurial gray irises in her direction.

Her options ran thin. Hermione picked absently at a half-eaten dinner roll while her eyes trailed from the Slytherin table now packed with the usual 6th years- to the Head table where Dumbledore sat pleasantly placid.

She prayed that he'd look at her, fasten that penetrating blue stare on her own so that she could telekinetically incinerate him with the desperation coursing through her veins at his indifference. Sighing, Hermione took a leisurely sip of tea to hide how she once again refocused her attention on that crouched blond head of her boyfriend's. Not that she was even sure they were still together.

The tea hit a solid knot of grief in her throat and she involuntarily spluttered just as Ginny and Luna strolled up to the table and took empty seats across from her. The tepid brown liquid traced a path to her chin. The Ravenclaw looked on sympathetically as Hermione hastened to remove it.

Ginny struck up a conversation with a now blushing Harry, who was seated next to Hermione on the bench, as she silently bemoaned her aborted view of her favorite Slytherin. With careful movements she drained her tea and wistfully wondered the effectiveness of just hugging him until all his problems were properly smothered.

 _Effective for him? No… but effective for me…_

Luna intervened on her thoughts. "What do your leaves say?"

Hermione raised an impatient eyebrow at her friend.

"They say only that the tea steeped for too long."

"Ah. Bitter then?" Luna commented pointedly as she plucked the cup from Hermione's relaxed grip. They sat their in stilted silence, Hermione overcome with bemusement over the blonde whose head was currently craned to view the soggy contents of the cup.

"Something lost," she murmured and Hermione's breath hitched at the exactitude, "but also something found." Harry and Ginny quieted at Luna's mumbling and leaned in to listen as well.

She looked only to Hermione when she said sensitively, "It's a difficult type of missing when you lose someone that's still here."

Hermione gripped her hands fiercely under the table as Harry turned worriedly toward her. "What is she talking about? Did something happen, Hermione?" Her knuckles cracked under the pressure of her hands as she managed a half-hearted scoff.

"It's just tea leaves, Harry. That branch of magic is unreliable."

 _Oh, dear God, please be reliable._

Luna pursed her lips slightly at the weak rebuke before adding a final thought. "I think," she said, the airiness stripped from her tone, "that this also shows death. But the symbol's broken, as if interrupted." Luna turned the cup but Hermione couldn't sense anything past the breakneck speed of her heart, thumping wildly against her chest. The gray-eyed girl placed the cup down and shifted, giving Hermione a poor view of Draco with Theo seated across from him.

Another option sprung forth suddenly. Faintly, she could hear Harry trying to get her attention but Hermione's entire being was focused on the delusional notion that her tea leaves could possibly have etched out her future.

Never in her life had she wanted such bullshite to be actually true. Until now.

Turning to Harry, she apologized and said that she really needed a second opinion on her Arithmancy and then Hermione crossed the Great Hall which coincidentally quieted with every step she took until she drew within arms' length of Draco.

He stiffened before she even drew breath.

With agonizing effort, Hermione kept her eyes on Theo who looked near sick at the attention. "Hey Theo," she smiled a bit shyly all while the blood drained from his face, "I was wondering if we could switch our revising to tonight? I have a problem that I'd like a second opinion on."

The surrounding area hummed with the tension of the moment; even though she spoke softly, Hermione could imagine her words traveling lightning-fast on the lips of all the gossipers. _Look, golden girl is publicly approaching a Death Eater son!_ She breathed thinly through her nose as the adrenaline that drove her to be so bold started to drain out of her.

Then, Theo dropped his eyes resolutely to the worn wood of the table. Hermione thought she could probably die from the red-hot embarrassment visibly flushing over her skin. Pansy, seated next to Draco, turned partly on her bench to flash a satisfied smirk at Hermione.

"The know-it-all needs help? How- "

Crossing her arms, Hermione cut off Pansy's diatribe. "Even I'm not too proud to ask for help sometimes." Her heart climbed into her throat as she moved to address the back of Draco's head with some measure of nonchalance. "What about you, Malfoy? Care to help me?"

She waited, all bravado, as Pansy gaped unattractively and the whole school listened unabashedly and Hermione felt every ounce of hope and expectation well up in her overly transparent eyes. _If only he would look at me._ She sucked in a breath as he rolled his shoulders, his neck straightening… _say something, Draco..._ but the raspy mumble of his reply snuffed the light right out of her.

"I imagine your problem is beyond help, Granger."

Theo shivered but kept his eyes downcast and Pansy laughed joyously while Hermione backed away from the table, unsuccessful at hiding her heart in her eyes. She could feel the scorching knot of tears work its way up her throat. Involuntarily she hiccuped in hopes of holding the emotion at bay as she strode blindly for the doors.

Hermione hit the Entrance hall, the cool undisturbed air there hitting her cheeks and drying the moisture that had snuck out from traitorous eyes. She choked on the reality of what just happened, as the breaths in her chest heaved out of her like a drowning person who couldn't find safe ground. Where was _her_ safe ground?

Hermione stumbled to the broom cupboard just off the Entrance hall. She just wanted a modicum of privacy if she were to turn into Moaning Myrtle, but the desire would not be afforded to her because just as she turned to hide herself away, Blaise caught sight of her retreating figure and moved in Hermione's direction, unbeknownst to her.

She shut the door to the broom cupboard, the scent of musky neglect filling her nostrils but the dark, dank space reminded her so much of her own insides that she broke down and wept. Even as a body slid discreetly down the wood on the outside of the door, she sobbed uncontrollably, past the point of caring that someone- likely Harry- heard the broken, keening noises being wrenched from her throat.

The sobs turned hysterical and little hiccups of air bubbled up from a chest constricted with the pain of losing and she didn't bloody care. Hermione just went on and on that way, certain that her heart must be literally breaking, and she stared at the door where someone's solid form sat, eating up the minimal light ekeing through the crack at the bottom.

Shuddering out a breath, then another, Hermione crawled the cramped meter to the door and laid a hand on the wood as if she could absorb the steadying presence through the grain. She inhaled quickly and held the air in the hollow of her cheeks, feeling the burn in her lungs and hoping to God that those vapid molecules would fortify her enough to move.

Hermione slowly stood and siphoned the dirt from her clothing before opening the door; Blaise was also standing, running a hand down impeccably black trousers before catching her eyes.

Her mouth dropped open, unbelieving. Blaise ran his enigmatic stare up and down her body only to, after a moment, unsheathe his wand to mutter a spell that smoothed the frizz back from her face. Hermione touched it wonderingly, her eyes never leaving the dark-skinned boy's contemplative gaze.

"Thank you," she finally murmured into the quiet and then slid past him, oddly touched that it was Blaise of all people who turned into solid ground when she hit bottom.

March eked on like the trickling of raindrops on the castle windows from spring storms. The grounds were leached of the pristine white of winter as nature made way for newness. Freshly turned earth filled the air on the trek to the greenhouses, the barest promise of grass teasing one's nostrils.

Hermione found the days to be long and dreary but also constantly filled with Blaise's presence. He had taken to partnering her in Potions and sitting next to her in Defense. On days once reserved for study sessions with Theo, Blaise now was the one to signal across the Hall an invitation to join him in the library.

Most evenings the two of them ensconced themselves in the usual alcove, the silence their only tether to common ground. Then one evening he asked a question about the protective power of Ancient Runes as seen carved into the Egyptian pyramids and if that notion could be applied to the sentient… then about the magical theory surrounding the creation of portkeys… until their stilted conversations strung together to form something of a bond.

As relieved as she was to have Blaise in this, Hermione could tell that Draco seemed past caring about her activities as each day found him more gaunt and more pale and by mid-March, more absent. He wouldn't even bother to show up to classes, let alone meals and so Hermione took assiduous notes and mechanically swallowed food before disappearing every day behind the broom cupboard door, Blaise always the sentinel, as she wept her futility.

Then one morning, on a Saturday in late March, Hermione was making her way down into the common room to head to breakfast when she was arrested by Harry awaiting her.

His eyes were locked on the girls' dormitory stairwell as if he'd been lost in his anticipation for her arrival. "I need to talk to you," he said.

Hermione paused on the last step, her stomach dipping with dread. She asked carefully, "What's wrong, Harry?"

Her best friend wouldn't look away even as he patted the cushion on the couch beside him. She dragged her feet forward at the silent request, then lowered herself onto the couch stiffly. The fire already crackled with friendly warmth and Hermione's gaze stuck to the mesmerizing dance of the flames as she waited for Harry to speak.

 _Please, Harry. Just speak._

"Hermione," he implored and the tone of his voice tore her gaze away from the fire and onto her friend, her dearest friend who looked sick with worry. Guilt turned her stomach and she felt the truth slosh up her throat. Hermione swallowed hard.

"Hermione," he said again, "I should be asking you what's wrong."

 _Don't break, don't break. Keep the truth in your head and off your tongue._

She stared silently before forcing her features into a mask of confusion.

"Why's that?"

Harry's jaw fell slack as if he were staring at a stranger. "Perhaps because," he started, emotion sharpening the words, "you have been nearly non-existent with your friends and you have Slytherins for shadows."

 _Perhaps you've been non-existent with me,_ Hermione thought bitterly as she bit her tongue. The metallic flow of blood gave her leave to swallow again before answering.

"I've been with you two as often as able. But with Quidditch and Lavender for Ron and you with Malfoy-" she crossed her arms at the pang in her chest before admitting, "It's been a busy year."

 _Busy was an understatement actually. More like transformative._

Casting her eyes downward, she left the second half of Harry's observation unanswered. He was not dissuaded.

"And the snakey shadows?" He pressed. The cushion Hermione was sitting on shifted slightly as Harry moved toward her, bringing a hand under her chin to tilt up her gaze. She stopped the movement by jerking her head away, her eyes narrowed with authentic accusation on the dark-haired wizard.

"Those boys have been nothing but polite to me," _at least by Slytherin standards,_ "Neither has ever bullied me outright and I see no reason why when there's two people willing to share my interests," _meaning Draco Malfoy,_ "I have to avoid them purely because of house rivalry."

The fire popped and startled Hermione. Vaulting off the couch, she neared the flames and focused on anything but the way Harry's stare was penetrating right through her. He probably saw the blackness stained on her soul.

A single tear slipped out and down Hermione's cheek, landing on the corner of her lips where its salty taste tingled.

Discreetly she wiped away the glistening track and turned back to Harry. He was sitting stiffly on the couch and brooding, the deep green of his irises clouded with faraway contemplation. Hermione contemplated too; with the weeks that have slipped by since she last spoke to Draco, with his daily descent further into some torturous hell, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if it was finally time to come clean.

 _Perhaps then the boys could help me._ Her eyes refocused on Harry and she delicately snorted at the unlikely possibility. _Perhaps it would have Draco talking to me again… at least long enough to kill me._

Abandoning the idea, she moved to slump back on the couch, bringing Harry out of his reflection. His eyes found purchase on her as she reclined on the cushions wearily, the green clearer now, even as he gaped with what to say next.

"I feel like you're hiding something."

Hermione's heart thudded but the room otherwise remained silent.

"Ever since that weird tea leaves thing with Luna… and then the blatantly open taunt to Malfoy?"

The silence was so crushing Hermione thought the truth would be pressed right out of her.

Harry sighed, aggrieved. "I don't trust them. The Slytherins."

Hermione's eyes fell closed at his reluctant, grumbling capitulation. "You don't have to trust them. Trust-"

 _Me. Please just trust me and know that I did all these deceptive things and rambled all these poisonous lies because I didn't want to hurt you._

Their gazes clashed as he waited expectantly for her to finish her sentence.

Hermione Granger was not one who let sentences dangle.

And of all the things in the past three weeks that could break her, it was that- that minuscule trait that once oozed certainty. And structure… poise.

That steadfast trait of Hermione Granger deserted this body long ago. Now left in its place was this new-found sheen of indecision that glazed over everything in her life, that completely rocked to her core and wearied her in a way that had her deciding she couldn't swallow back the truth any longer.

"Harry, we-"

Footsteps from the girls' set of dormitory stairs shattered the crackling tension and as Ginny rounded the archway, utterly oblivious to how her presence ruined the moment, Hermione's courage shriveled and she fled from the common room.

Like the cowardly snake she was.


	33. Chaos Incarnate

**Chaos Incarnate**

* * *

" _I am in the mood to dissolve in the sky." -Virginia Woolf_

Draco stared into the bottom of his trunk like it was the darkest part of the ocean and one tumble could send him falling into it where he could never emerge. The false bottom was removed as he sat, conflicted, over the journal and iPod snug in the secret compartment. He couldn't decide if checking the journal was worth the inevitable knife of knowledge if he opened the blasted thing and saw it empty.

He opted for ignorance.

Too carefully, Draco found himself sliding the bottom back in place and resetting the locking charm, effectively vanishing the dangerous items from sight.

He wished he could do the same with nearly everything else in his life.

Draco snapped the lid of his trunk shut. All the articles that were emptied from it in order to reach the bottom were strewn around his portion of the dormitory like chaos incarnate. That idea suited him just fine, he thought darkly, as he maneuvered around piles of too-large clothes and extra books.

 _I grow best in the chaos, don't I?_

Draco sighed and collapsed into his desk chair. After a deliberating moment, he shuffled through the school supplies stacked precariously on the worn wood until he unearthed the half dozen texts related to fixing the Cabinet. The sheer weight of them would be foolish to tow around the castle so Draco fingered his wand and neatly minimized them.

Standing up, he proceeded to stuff the tiny versions in his pocket when a voice made him pause.

"So that's it, then. You're really going to go through with this?"

The tone was sad, smooth, searching. Draco felt long stripped of a multi-layered facade that would require legitimate searching.

He turned slightly and found Blaise in the door, his visible skin varying shades of shadow and ash, from his cheeks darkened with the impotency of circumstance down to hands clenched white with barely restrained rage.

A quick flick of his eyes showed Draco all of this about his estranged friend; the blond turned towards him, affording Blaise full attention for the first time in likely a month.

He gifted him a starkly honest truth for the first time in likely… ever.

"Do I really have a choice?" He asked, defeating. Dead, even.

Blaise put his hands in his pockets, deceptively calm. Onyx eyes narrowed on Draco's slumped form. "I feel like you've been given several," he opined a bit tersely.

The arrogance of the words propelled Draco across the modest space until he had Blaise flat and wide-eyed against the door.

He stabbed a finger into the hollow of Blaise's throat and hissed, "A choice where someone I love doesn't die?"

Blaise swallowed compulsively as the pressure of Draco's despondency zeroed in on the base of his throat but otherwise remained silent- a rather disappointing response, or lack thereof, to Draco's question.

A sneer of disgust curled Draco's lip as he shoved off Blaise and whirled around toward his desk, scooping up a nearly empty case. It's not like he had use of it when he hadn't attended classes in who-bloody-knows-how-long.

When he turned back and made to leave, he found Blaise still frozen in place against the door. The dark-skinned boy parted his lips and then closed them… once and then twice as his throat worked around a knot of undeniable emotion. Draco approached him and Blaise finally sighed, shutting his eyes as he decided upon something to say.

"Professor Snape would like to see you."

When he reopened them, they were their usual stoic, coffee hue that Draco was beyond familiar with but the observation of such was nothing short of disappointing. The moment of tension, of potential connection broke and with nothing to show for it.

The common room was crowded this early in the evening but the March nights were dark, damp, and brisk; usually the common room- even one located in the dungeons- was the warmest place to be had in such weary weather. Draco quietly growled his way past every person who thought to engage him, his patience long gone after the conversation with Blaise. He noted Pansy sitting close to the fire with Daphne Greengrass, Goyle and Crabbe taking up the couch across from them as Theo perched like a studious shadow in an armchair.

Pansy waved at him. Draco paused and pulled in a frustrating breath, knowing that it wasn't worth the moment of vicious satisfaction if he defiantly ignored her.

"Come join us, Dray," she cooed from her spot on the hearth. She shifted to make space as her dark eyes fluttered in their weak play at invitation.

He arched one eyebrow before sparing a glance at Theo. The boy's nose was so deep in his book he'd probably be smelling ink and aged parchment for a week.

 _She'd sometimes have that smell about her…_ Draco immediately threw away the stray thought and subsequently waved off Pansy's request.

"I've been summoned by Snape," he said by way of explanation, "I'll pop in later."

Then he left for his godfather's office, false sincerity still coating his tongue.

As he carefully crossed the threshold and close the door behind him, Draco found Snape waiting in his chair. The man leveled an assessing gaze on Draco, the black disappearing behind accusing slits as he took in the over-loose robes and ashen pallor.

Sweeping his robes behind him as he stood, Snape almost floated across the office until he was even with Draco. In some faraway place in his brain, Draco noticed that he near matched his godfather in height now.

Nevertheless, Draco tilted his eyes up the inch and it was all the permission needed for Snape to fall into his mind. The entry was effortless, without pain, and Snape probably thought that Draco was some utter failure at the Occlumency deal but in his endless hours of leisure, Draco realized that it wasn't the outside walls of his mind that were important.

So when Snape pushed through walls that had the resistance of essentially silk sheets, Draco felt a wash of satisfaction as his godfather met the empty void of his mind on the other side.

Draco could feel how Snape's consciousness perused. He could nearly envision the suspicion narrowing those stygian eyes before the man started to sweep through the barren maze of Draco's mind with razor sharp intent. He shredded through the superficial memories of class time and dawdling hours in the common room. Knowing Draco's weakness, he excised any vision that held Granger, including the one of her approaching the snake's table at dinner but each moment- no matter how carefully observed- reeked only of Draco's apathy.

Soon, Snape moved along walls without seams, and occasionally paused to attempt puncturing the fortification. It did not budge to strength, to threats or coercion, and after an undetermined length of time his godfather withdrew to repose very carefully on his desk.

He stared pensively at Draco who hadn't shifted an inch since he entered the room.

"It seems," the sour man concluded, "that your Occlumency shields are finally sufficient." The pensive look gave way to impatience simmering just below the black irises. Snape surged to crowd Draco and the aggressive move threw him off but only just- Snape reentered his mind to yet again see nothing.

"Your shields are sufficient," Snape repeated and the sluggish compliment echoed around the open space, "but you are more unstable than ever."

Draco clenched his jaw in effort not to lash out; when he felt the coldness slip back in place, he forced forward a memory of his last letter from Voldemort and provided with a hint of his old droll, "Perhaps it's because I'm under the thumb of a psychopath?"

The pain of Snape abruptly wrenching himself from Draco's mind had him gasping. His lungs tight, he hissed slowly through his teeth and forced the tension back out.

Out of his hips and back and shoulders… out of his perfectly molded mind, until he was as flat again as the useless organ beating blood through his veins.

When he felt under control, he lifted his eyes back to Snape and found him unamused. In fact, he looked rather close to murderous.

Snape breathed the words and as they fanned across Draco's face, he realized that volume didn't necessitate strength. "Why did you believe that this is information I wouldn't want to know?"

A pause in which Draco surely was meant to fill with an answer… but the tone had struck him dumb.

Snape grabbed the front of his robes and twisted them fiercely. "I vowed to protect you," he hissed.

"No one can protect me," Draco mumbled and the deep-seated resignation weighing the statement had Snape releasing his robes.

They stared at one another and the absence of anything in that room- no hope, nor oxygen, nor tension- sat on Draco's already heavy shoulders until he couldn't help but crouch down in an effort to catch his breath. He shuddered air that just-wasn't-quite-enough through his mouth and out his nose because it was the only thing he were truly capable of in the moment.

He missed the utter tragic display of bereavement on his godfather's face, though. In a moment of rare concession, Snape offered Draco's bowed head a line of consolation.

"You're saving her. This way."

The softly-admitted words got sucked into the vacuum that was Snape's office, making no dent in Draco's despair, making no real impact at all in the reality of now.

Resentment swelled, pushing Draco back to standing position.

"And who saves me?"

Then he stalked off.

Snape had no paper-thin words of comfort for that.

Draco didn't know what the bloody hell time it was, as the measurement served no other purpose in his life but to quantify the length of separation from _her,_ but as he stalked the corridors of the castle he was fortunate enough to find them empty save for a prefect here or there.

His face, so tight it felt carved on, must have been enough persuasion for those he encountered to leave him the bloody. Hell. Alone. The prefects dropped their eyes and hustled along while Draco kept his focus forward, his legs eating up the space until he was facing that Salazar-forsaken wall on the 7th floor.

The stone became blurry under Draco's gaze as he envisioned the Room. The door appeared causing the single-minded concentration that drove Draco to its threshold to drain right out of him, leaving the task of crossing it feeling impossible.

The longer he procrastinated, however, the longer the room was exposed to any old wanker who happened by.

Draco twirled his Hawthorn with fidgety resolve and crossed the threshold. He made quick work of the maze-like paths and reached the Cabinet; it remained as it ever was, frustratingly enigmatic.

After a moment's pause, he pulled what was once Granger's chair over to his own and then engorgioed all the books he pulled from his trouser pocket. They were piled in a tower on the seat, the sight of which triggered a twinge of bittersweet nostalgia in Draco.

He swiftly inhaled to stave off the feeling and swore he could smell summer citrus and rosemary.

Draco tightened the Occlumency walls inside his mind, contracting them like a muscle until they were back to the seamless fortress he spent the past several weeks crafting. He had no more space for her.

Draco sat, knee fidgeting, and proceeded to pull the top book onto his lap. He flipped through the pages, the words hardly readable as they bounced in time with his knee, but Draco wasn't even that interested in reading the words. The ink scratches ran together like a nonsensical dark river, his mind snagging only briefly on a passage about intent, before he heard a noise.

A noise distinctly uncreature-like. Draco earmarked the page and tuned his hearing out beyond the thudding of his traitorous heart until the sound became more distinct.

Distinctly footsteps.

Draco's heart pressed on so hard it made his lung tight, his breathing shallow. Quickly he threw a notice-me-not charm on the books but remained seated in the chair, head bowed and limbs purposefully lax.

He never quite appreciated the amount of energy it took to look _relaxed._ Nevertheless, he gathered the tension into a tangled wad and placed it his gut like some paperweight that might actually hold the nerves churning there in place.

As the steps grew louder, Draco inhaled indifference, using it like mortar for his presently faltering mental walls; then he exhaled the tension, bringing to the forefront all the unresolved feelings from that fight with her… now eons ago… although the betrayal still fresh as an exposed wound.

Finally the footsteps stopped. Draco could imagine her standing there, that perfect mouth already primed with promises.

Placations. Compromises, perhaps.

But he intended to be strong in the face of that kissable mouth forming persuasion, so with every syllable laced with sarcasm he stated, "If you're here to talk, Granger, you can forget it. Unless you've finally decided to apologize."

"Apologize for what?"

The voice was bright, like crystal-cut glasses on New Years Eve, and its tone was curious and the whole of it was so unbelievably wrong that when Draco stood and turned to find Pansy standing at the end of the aisle, the blood drained from his face.

"How- how did you get in here?" Draco choked out.

Pansy moved into the clearing, her face a perfect study of sad disbelief as she tucked her dark locks behind an ear so that her face was completely visible to Draco.

"Of all the girls," she breathed out, her voice too thin to even carry any censure, "you had to choose her."

 _It was nowhere near a choice._ The blood was circulating back through Draco's body now. His hands clenched around the hot rush of rage and he could feel his face flush an unattractive red but he stared at Pansy without shame as he repeated much more resolutely, "How did you get in here?"

Pansy ignored him and moved closer.

"You, the leader of bigotry. The one who coined Granger as the resident Mudblood- " Draco cringed at the slur and the bitch's eyes widened, "You. The one every Slytherin knew would be the first tapped for the Mark."

The diatribe fell from Pansy's mouth and was made all the worse for the way the words were honed in honesty, like a knife she could twist to the hilt. The pain lanced through him so Draco yelled in frustration, "Just answer my fucking question, Pansy!"

"Was she worth it?" She whispered as she finally drew level with him, the expensive perfume that her mother bought her which Draco typically tried to ignore starting to close his throat with its cloying scent.

"The torture you must have had to endure. The inevitability that together you wouldn't make it out alive. Tell me, Draco, was she honestly worth it?"

Pansy crossed her arms and cocked her head as the dark brown of her irises ate up what little light existed in the Room. They gleamed a gentle sort of sadness which Draco couldn't begin to decode because the wrongness of the whole situation- her scent, and her eyes, and her questions, and the simple fact that it was Pansy at all and not Granger, dammit- all of that crowded his head to the point that he thought he was going to explode from the unfairness of Fate.

Instead, he tightened all his muscles into steel-hard incontrovertibility. Instead, he said lowly but no less fiercely, "You know nothing about worth."

Then he pushed past her, his legs eating up the space to the exit, as Pansy continued to talk conversationally.

"You wanted to know how I got in. I saw you wavering outside that door for a time and then disappear through it. All I needed to do was ask for you.

"You really must be more careful, Draco."

Draco stumbled into the 7th floor corridor and as his knee hit the stone floor, an ominous vibrating worked its way up from his kneecap to his gut and then up every vertebrae of his spine.

He started to hyperventilate. When the vibrating didn't stop at his neck but pushed into his brain, breaking down the month-long labor of his near perfect Occlumency walls, Draco couldn't seem to pull enough air in.

He moved down the corridor almost drunkenly, with his mouth agape in a way that would have his mother cringing; yet, the oxygen could just not be pulled in fast enough. The halls were somewhat crowded as many of the students housed in the towers had taken to the stairs and Draco carelessly flew past them only becoming aware that it was the dinner hour once he reached the Entrance Hall.

Sweat darkened his hairline. Draco paused at the gigantic open doors to the Great Hall while his heart pounded over the vivacious din of the other students. He still couldn't breathe and it had nothing to do with his sprint from one of the highest locations of the castle.

In a rare moment of mercy by the Fates, Theo and Blaise materialized in his peripheral vision as they ascended the basement staircase. His two mates slowed at the sight of him, likely colorless in his panic, and when both sets of eyes crinkled ever-so-slightly at the corners with concern, Draco's pride broke.

He flung himself toward them on still-unstable legs and gripped their biceps, stiff with steadiness, which temporarily warmed Draco with relief.

While Theo's eyes widened from Draco's show of vulnerability, Blaise only twisted his arm so he could grip Draco back. The lithe fingers dug like barbs.

Taking control, Blaise steered the trio across the very open, very public Hall until they could slip behind the notch of wall where a broom cupboard was located. Blaise pushed the other boys inside without any ceremony.

By now Draco's panic had abated slightly as his eyes dragged over the tight space with equal parts disgust and curiosity. He stood closest to the inside wall when Blaise shut the door and cast a Lumos.

Ungracefully, Draco maneuvered his body so he could face his mates, an automatic sneer working across his face.

Impossibly, Blaise only darkened. "It was a good enough spot for Hermione to have a mental breakdown. It's good enough for you."

The other two paled simultaneously but Draco quickly recovered and snapped, "Don't call her that."

The bastard only shrugged indifferently, the motion a perfectly lobbed non-verbal 'fuck you' that had Draco seeing red. He shifted for his wand before Theo's hand on his shoulder redirected his attention.

Theo looked at him, the reluctance in his eyes visible even with the single Lumos doing a shite job lighting the space.

"What do you want?" Theo asked. The words offered no promise, no intimacy.

Blaise huffed a laugh.

"Yes. What draws us together for this happy reunion?"

The offer in those words was abundantly clear to Draco. It rankled, even as Theo threw a warning glare over his shoulder at the brooding boy.

Blaise shrugged indifferently at him too.

Procrastinating, Draco took in the few details of the rather depressing room and tried to imagine _her_ in the space. The floor was less dusty than an undisturbed broom cupboard ought to be, likely a testament to their feet but also to hers. If he squinted hard enough, Draco thought he could make out a handprint.

The stillness deepened along with the ache in his heart.

"How is she?"

Theo looked to Blaise, as oblivious as Draco to the answer. Curtly, Blaise responded, "As well as you."

While Theo sucked in a breath, Draco curled an arm around his center, unsuccessful at protecting that vulnerable area from the twist of Blaise's verbal knife.

Closing his eyes, Draco shuddered at the last memory he had of… Granger, the way her face utterly crumpled as he unhesitatingly walked away and the ache from before flared hot, desperate.

Draco opened his eyes then looked first to Theo before landing on Blaise.

"I need your help."


	34. Two-Fold Betrayal

**A/N: Hello friends! I wanted to warn you that after this installment, there are only TWO chapters left to the story, the final being etched out as we live and breathe! Fear not- I am drawing it to its inevitable conclusion, one that I didn't necessarily envision at the start of this project over a year ago, but it makes the most sense now. I hope you stick through the continued angst for the next couple chapters and have faith that Dramione will indeed find peace... of a sort.**

* * *

 **Two-fold Betrayal**

* * *

"… _grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." -Serenity Prayer_

Once, Hermione relished the solitude that could be found in her out-of-the-way alcove in the library. She used to feel the anticipation add extra bounce to her steps as she wound her way through the many, many aisles to that sacred corner.

Now, though, Hermione felt at such a loss when she found herself alone in the cozy space that she succumbed after dinner to inviting Luna along in an attempt to stave off the loneliness. The dreamy, dangerous girl smiled her affirmation and upon arrival, took the comfiest chair. Hermione halted at the remaining cushioned chair, taking in her friend with newfound appreciation.

 _Clearly she is not as fanciful as everyone believes her to be._

Luna had taken out a single sheet of parchment, quill, and textbook- which Hermione gathered from the cover was for Divination- before immersing herself in her studies. Shaking off the bout of reflection, Hermione finally seated herself and spent the next twenty minutes arranging the dearth of information she had for Arithmancy revising. Luna seemed to find the whole process amusing as out of the corner of Hermione's eye, she could see the blonde's lips tilted mischievously at the corners.

The amusement of the situation entirely escaped Hermione; in fact, she felt a bit miffed that a Ravenclaw- the brainiest house of the castle- seemed to find such delightful triviality in the diligent method Hermione applied to her studies.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, however, and with Luna the only one available to help fend off the isolation, Hermione opted to keep her opinions to herself and finally get to work. Just as she was about to begin a rather absorbing problem, Luna cleared her throat.

"Hermione, do you mind helping me on this?"

Luna twisted the sheet and textbook so Hermione could see the topic- _Centering your Eye for Advanced Crystal Ball Gazing._ Involuntarily she made a face.

"You know," Luna started, not missing the reproof sketched on Hermione's face, "Divination isn't very different from Arithmancy."

Hermione couldn't control her eye roll at Luna's deduction. She scoffed, "Luna, your reasoning just shows that the branches of magic are in fact entirely different, if one could even consider Divination a legitimate branch- "

Hermione cut off her rant when she saw Luna's face harden.

"You should try to be more open-minded, Hermione," and the snappish scold caused the overzealous brunette to flush. Luna had pulled her school things back to her side of the table, staring at the paper with enigmatic eyes. Her pale fingers moved up and down the shaft of the quill a few times before putting it to paper to scratch out a few words.

Hermione sat, completely abashed yet unable to scrounge up any sort of concession as she did actually believe Divination to be a load of tripe; so instead she watched the thoughtful, feather-light movements of the girl's hand until it lulled.

Luna murmured, "My mother had the Sight."

She halted without elaboration, leaving Hermione to audibly sputter at the divulgence of such intimate and unanticipated knowledge. Before she could find a polite way to barrage her friend with questions, Luna continued her incredible narrative.

"She predicted her passing."

Hermione's mouth clicked shut.

"It was a conversation she had with me quite often as a child," Luna turned her eyes back onto Hermione, the stalwart gray gaze making Hermione tremble with emotion. Luna spoke, unflappable. "I asked why she wouldn't do something so that what she Saw wouldn't come true. She told me that to see things didn't necessarily mean to change them."

The homework lay abandoned as Luna paused in her story. Hermione's mind churned from the information that Luna provided even as long-standing logic fought against the idea that Seers actually existed. _Never mind the two of us almost died trying to protect a prophecy from one last year._

Overwhelmed, Hermione opened her mouth to question the merit of taking such a passive stance on Seeing the future but Luna pressed on before she could say anything.

"My mother believed that Seeing meant more than changing. She felt it sometimes meant for one to gain perspective. Sometimes to appreciate or practice humility."

With that perplexing final note, Luna turned back to her homework as if she just didn't provide some astonishing riddle that required hours of discussion to unravel. Hermione was desperate for clarification- where does the Sight come from? How often does it occur? She fingered the heavy Arithmancy textbook, trying to allay the itch in her hands to scour the whole library in order to find a thorough reference book on the topic.

Luna's quill made a shushing sound as she dragged the feather across the parchment and for a moment, Hermione centered back on her friend and the last words she uttered.

Perspective and appreciation were all well and good, in Hermione's mind, but she near burned from the internal riot that one shouldn't attempt to change the things one sees.

 _What was the bloody point of sitting on that knowledge?_

"Have you tried to change anything since I Saw for you?" Luna asked conversationally and Hermione startled at the way her train of thought flowed from Luna's mouth. Biting her lower lip until the skin chafed, Hermione tried weakly, "Luna they were just- "

"A portent of potential knowledge?" She remarked lightly, lethally. A scalpel with her syllables as she cut down through the meat of it. "I don't recall your reaction to the tea leaves being anything close to just."

Indecision shifted suddenly to indignation; Hermione had thought Luna was her friend, whose dreamy demeanor could be the haven that she needed on a lonely evening, but it seemed Hermione was wrong.

She pushed herself up and roughly gathered her things, uncaring at the order they fell into her bag. Petulant words peppered her tongue, making it hot, and she longed to unload them on this _friend_ who had the audacity… who was conceited enough to-

Be right.

Hermione turned her back on Luna, who was serenely doing homework, as the petulant words melted into something a bit more pitiful. They slid down her throat and it burned- her speechlessness at a time when she once felt confident she could defend her beliefs unbelievably burned. Now an insidious kernel of doubt had winnowed its way in to shatter such beliefs because, bloody hell, Luna was _right._

She had been right all year, probably as far back as that Quidditch game when she knew Hermione's mind had wandered to Draco's whereabouts. And she was right now because even if Hermione still clung to the idea that Divination was hardly worth pursuing, it was with the same strength she clung to that tea leaves reading.

Swallowing hard, she felt the burn work its way up her throat and into her eyes. Hermione refused to let the tears fall as Luna had revealed quite enough of her vulnerability for one day; so, with a swipe of one hand masked by the shouldering of her bag, Hermione walked towards the exit of the alcove.

"So?" The word drifted up, forbidden fruit longing to be plucked. Hermione twitched her head just so to find Luna still bent over parchment. "Have you tried to change anything?"

At the last second she raised her gray eyes, brimming with cautious curiosity, to Hermione.

"No," Hermione whispered back, the muscles in her neck cording in an attempt to hold back the tears that wanted to fall. They didn't; she'd had a lot of practice holding them back.

Luna only nodded and returned to her homework. "I'd say that was wise. My mother certainly was when she taught me that knowledge isn't meant to be wielded like a weapon."

"What would your mother's take have been on using it as a shield?"

Whipping her neck back around, Hermione saw Blaise and Theo flanking the small opening on the alcove. She shamelessly reached a hand out to the former.

"Hello, Hermione," Blaise greeted as he took her hand for a moment. A dark urgency pulsed from his fingers to her own before he let her go. Blaise weaved past, leaving Hermione and Theo with some semblance of privacy.

Theo broke first. "I'm so sorry, Granger," and in the pitifully small shared space he pierced the tension by laying his warm hands on Hermione's shoulders. The certitude of his statement sunk past her robes and cardigan and blouse until she felt thawed out from the frozen, futile shell of a girl she had been these past weeks.

Hermione smiled broadly her forgiveness and looped Theo into her arm, turning then to find Blaise gazing intently at Luna. "We need to speak with you," and he moved his assessing gaze to Hermione then, "in private."

The implication hung there and inwardly Hermione keened to reach out and grasp it like some shining lodestar that would finally provide direction. Considering Blaise's face more closely, her body stiffened as she organized the disarray of her mind, as she relived the conversation with Luna- much of it still too esoteric to fathom- until a few moments of silence stretched to many, discomfort stirring in her companions.

Instinctually she knew Luna had become too much of a support and so declared to Blaise, "You can say what you need to in front of Luna. At this point, she's just as integral as any of us."

Theo pierced Luna with an odd look whereas Blaise hadn't even blinked.

"You've been found out," Theo said, the words dripping deliberate vagueness and yet they shot right to the center of Hermione, freezing her.

Sighing- likely to cover up his atypical disquiet- Blaise added, "It's only a matter of time before You-Know-Who knows."

The stoic snakes stared, as if there wasn't so much that sat in between the space of the words they uttered. Story not scratched out, color left off the canvas, and Hermione yearned for clarity despite the numbness starting to spread again through her body. She felt her breathing slow to a preternatural stillness, a fact Luna picked up on as she moved away from the table to put a hand on Hermione's arm, the grip surprisingly firm.

Steady. Present.

Hermione drew strength from it and pushed feeling back into extremities already tingling with futility. Stumbling forward, she tried to string together coherence.

"Wait- but how?" A shaky inhale and then, "Is he okay?"

Blaise sidestepped the question. "He doesn't want you to go home for Easter hols."

Underneath the despair of being discovered, Hermione felt a slowly growing irritation that these boys would come here and feed her pieces of information like it was a sampling at tea as if she would end up at all satisfied with that.

She wasn't and the lack of information was starting to grate.

Breathing through clenched teeth, she modulated her voice carefully as she said, "I need to see him. We need to figure this- "

The hand on Hermione's arm turned to a vise when the brunette made to leave. Hermione merely glossed over the boys' interested expressions as she threw a look of blatant impatience over her shoulder.

Luna remained unmoved as she rationalized, "Hermione. Seeing him will only make it worse. Didn't you hear Blaise," who at his name shot Luna a look of unveiled suspicion, "earlier? They are telling you so you're protected. Draco's trying to shield you."

Her voice had turned earnest, coaxing, as if the significance of the two conversations held in the alcove that night would coil together and ensnare Hermione's curiosity.

But the volatile mixture of emotions churning in her blood diluted whatever shred of curiosity may have been left. What remained was indignation, and purpose- crystal clear purpose that filled her veins like alcohol.

Hermione backed up so that the whole group fell into her purview as she blazed, "He's the one that needs protection!"

Ignoring their raised protests, she rushed out, down the first floor corridor to the stairs that brought her standing, vacillating, in the Entrance Hall. As much as she craved Draco, Hermione had learned at least one thing this evening and that was this- Luna Lovegood is a truth giver, and that included her final statement about it being very bad if she sought out Draco just then.

All the same, she craved.

Hermione turned her sights up the main staircase and as the soles of her sensible shoes slapped the stones underneath, a tangle of thoughts whirred through Hermione's mind, attempting to form a coherent string.

A pearl necklace of knowledge.

A bullet-pointed leg to stand on when she finally confronted Harry and Ron.

She was halfway down the 4th floor corridor before Hermione could get a grasp on the internal chant beating in furious time with her heart.

 _Harry can convince Dumbledore._ The man's calculating blue eyes flashed across her vision and she shuddered disquietly but the voice in her head persisted.

 _If anyone can do it, Harry can. I waited too long-_ or was it too late, her heart throbbed- _too long,_ she emphasized. _But now, now they will help because I'm in danger._

 _I'm in danger._

Hermione paused at a threshold, away from the curious eyes of portraits and the potentially occupied staircases and released a single sob. Danger- had she ever been out of danger in all the time she was a witch?

Self-pity was left to dangle as the swiftly spiraling time pressed upon Hermione's shoulders, forcing her to withhold the emotion as she rounded the corner for the stairwells.

 _Danger means they will help. And by helping me, they help Draco._

The justification was weak, utterly so, but Hermione had subsisted on logic for so long that her supply of it was long diminished, allowing for the emotion of the situation to run unchecked through her body.

Panting frantically, Hermione reached the Fat lady's portrait; the look on the tower keeper's face smacked of shock but Hermione had no time to evaluate what was likely her bedraggled appearance.

She shouted the password, voice already hoarse, and the picture swung aside with mouth still agape. Hermione tripped into the common room, her limbs already leaden with dread. She scanned faces- _Dean, Seamus, barely recognizable second-years, Ginny-_ and there, nestled close on the couch with the vivacious redhead was Harry. His incurably messy black mop was to her front but Hermione caught the easy set of his shoulders and she already felt doomed.

She stood on the razor sharp edge of devastation and was unhesitatingly about to pull her best friend in alongside her.

Having stood frozen in the arched entryway for too long, the residents of the common room had begun to take notice, including Ron who sat opposite Harry with his back against the hearth, for once lacking his girlfriend-shaped shadow.

The fire framed him with a riotous sort of halo, his freckled face thrown into relief so that she could barely see his eyes but for the fact that they were directed at her. Hermione moved toward the fire as Ron thrusted away and then the two were standing face-to-face rather conspicuously in the center of the room.

His gaze circled her face, tilting up to take in her hair and then down to scan her body, the fiery fringe of his eyebrows raising each second that passed. Her name came out on a thread of worry. "Hermione?"

"I need to talk to you," she whispered fervently, "and Harry." Hermione's eyes traveled past Ron's arm to land directly on the boy in question, whose face was drawn and pale as he took in the exchange.

The trio soon whisked themselves away out of the common room and to an abandoned classroom, the one, Hermione noticed, she and Draco visited after the Quidditch game many months ago.

Upon entering she conjured one of her signature blue flames, the pang of nostalgia twofold in its bitter sweetness, before locking the door with a ward. Harry muffled the room.

"What is it, Hermione?"

"What happened?" Harry asked and Hermione couldn't even relish the concern in Ron's voice, in his body's cant toward her own, for the way Harry cut the air with his long-simmering impatience.

"I'm in danger," she managed to say. Their eyes widened at the news.

"How? What happened?" Harry repeated and Hermione dropped her eyes, chewing the thoughts until they were manageable bits.

Completely insane, manageable bits.

"You-know-who," Harry pursed his lips unpleasantly, "Voldemort," Hermione corrected, "knows about me. About my heritage."

Ron, this time- "How?"

The question failed to become any easier to answer the more she heard it; Hermione sucked in her bottom lip, the skin there too raw to be more than a heap of nerves.

"Well," she drew out, "you see, Parkinson- "

"This has to do with Pansy Parkinson?" Harry exclaimed but Hermione couldn't register much over the flare of panic that this explanation was taking too long... that she was, in fact, too late…

Growling, Hermione glared at the slack-jawed boys until their mouths were closed. "If you let me talk, I can tell you what this has to do with," she clipped.

Once the boys dipped their head in acknowledgment, Hermione cleared her throat and decided to plow forward, for better or worse.

"Parkinson was ordered to spy at Hogwarts and has been sending reports back to Voldemort. She's discovered that… she's telling him…" the words stuck, their order too unwieldy, too blunt, so Hermione attempted to backtrack. "I'm in danger because Draco is in danger."

Ron's ears turned red as his breath backed up angrily into his lungs; he spat, "Malfoy?" Yet, Hermione was more concerned by the sudden stillness of Harry.

"Draco?" And the question dropped from Harry's lip in all its implicative coldness. Hermione blinked away sudden tears as the ice in Harry's tone hit her face.

"Yes, Harry. Draco. He was sent to spy on me over the summer because I'm leverage for you," she rushed out, the 'you' ringing with accusation, "and I caught him and held him hostage for a time and that's when we… well, we- learned things."

Ron muttered darkly as he paced like a caged lion, his frame outside the blue flame's cool light. Harry's eyebrows rose at Hermione's admission.

"What kind of things?"

"Nothing of import, Harry," she snapped. "I initially tricked him with false information. It's irrelevant anyhow," Hermione continued, her voice softening, pleading, "when it came down to it, he wasn't so much Malfoy with me during that time. He had layers, contradictions."

Ron paused at this and whirled toward her, the agitation that drove his pacing now fully focused on her. "He's not a bloody cake, Hermione!" Ron shouted, rushing towards her with arms outstretched as if he was going to shake the crazy right out of her.

Harry placed a hand on Ron's shoulder to stay his movements. Looking at Hermione, he bid, "Keep going."

She clenched her fists, using her nails to prick feeling back into a body numb with fear. Ron's edgy exasperation was predictable, serving as an anchor to ground her against the tightly controlled movements Harry was making- so unlike her friend's typical brashness. Inhaling shakily, she continued.

"We came back to school and occasionally ran into each other in the corridors, usually after Slug Club. We talked, or more often bickered, and one of us would storm back to our dormitories. But they were things out of place… he wasn't acting normally and after what I saw and learned over the summer… I had to know."

"You had to help, you mean," Harry corrected. Their eyes collided over the small, dim space and she saw his irises darken with the beginnings of betrayal. Ron had shrugged off Harry's hold so that he could grasp Hermione hard by the shoulders; her breath caught at the unfamiliar touch, at the downward spin playing out in front of her like some Greek tragedy.

"What are you saying, Hermione?"

She forced her eyes up to Ron's face, shaking off the undeserving shackles of shame and with it, his hands so that she could state unequivocally, "I love Draco. I learned who he is and I love him for it and by doing so, the two of us are now in danger, I'm sure both our families are in danger!" Pause. "I've been told not to go home for Easter hols."

Ron staggered back, gaping for words as they fell inarticulately from his mouth in disbelief. "No! 'Mione… you can't! It's Malfoy. How-" he cut off, turning to gauge Harry's reaction who already moved to finish Ron's question.

"Could you. How could you?" Harry's voice was shaking as he leveled Hermione with a bitter glare. "This whole year, you've lied to us. I suspected Malfoy and you brushed me off because you needed to lie to protect him," Harry seethed as he stalked to be even with Ron, her two friends becoming an impenetrable wall between her and the classroom door.

Her blue flame levitated just to the left of their bodies and casted an eerie shadow across Harry's enraged features, Ron's devastated ones. The ginger shook his head and urged, "Why would you do this-" but was cut off by Harry who vibrated with rage.

"He's a Death Eater, Hermione. Scum. A bully who picked on you for years. And you chose him over us?"

The twin stares of accusation bore into Hermione and she felt utterly exposed, but for all the wrong reasons. She forced herself to keep her eyes on them as she jumped back into the argument.

"He is a Death Eater and he may have bullied me but you don't know everything. There's history between us…" Unbelievably, their stares turned colder so Hermione changed tack. "I didn't choose him over you. It's been complicated," she supplied albeit weakly because in a way, it hadn't been all that complicated.

And essentially, she did choose Draco.

A fact that Harry knew intimately as he scoffed then retreated for the door. "As if I can believe anything you say now, Hermione."

The ward she had placed prevented Harry from doing anything more than turning the doorknob futilely. "Let me out," he gritted but the words broke on Ron's back as he took his turn to loom over Hermione, to lambaste.

"Why would you do this to us? We're your best friends and you forget that so- what? You can try to save the fucking enemy?"

Hermione stared at Ron, traced the conviction etched into the furrows of his face, and deflated when she realized that she was only just skimming the surface of things with Harry and Ron.

Like stones skipped across the Black lake, each smack rippling outwards but not downwards where she needed them to come- into the shadowy depths where things weren't all black or white. Weren't all light or all dark but a communion of the two.

So when Hermione stared at Ron, when she settled on the dogmatic light reflecting from his blue eyes, she deflated because she knew there would be no help to be found here.

"You don't understand," Hermione started, still helpless to do anything but try and explain; Ron, though, was relentless, drinking in the rage that poured from Harry's form.

"No! You don't understand," he steamrolled, "He's not a house elf. He's not misunderstood-"

"LET ME OUT!" Harry then roared and both Ron and Hermione jumped as the words echoed around the room.

Harry wouldn't look at her and the loss of kinship shattered the most fragile section of her heart. She gripped her wand in shaky palms and muttered the spell to deactivate the ward, repeating the words when her breath hitched halfway through.

He stalked out and Harry still wouldn't look at her and as his back disappeared into the blackness of the hallway, Hermione crumpled to the ground and sobbed.

She heaved from the force of it, the tears running down her face to pool on her chin, to drip onto open, pleading palms. Through the blur, she could feel Ron move until his shabby shoes slid into her vision, the material not dragonhide leather but something much commoner and the observation left her empty.

"You can't blame us," he said and Hermione glanced up to find his tall frame unyielding, his arms crossed like a shield against her messy emotions, even though his face was soft with worry.

She caught his eyes and murmured, "I don't. I don't blame either of you." Hermione sighed then, the jagged truth of her next words scraping the roof of her mouth, making her rawer, "I blame myself.

"I need your help, Ron. Please."

He scowled and took a step back, as if the effort of craning his neck to view Hermione on the floor was more than he could afford.

"You need our help to save the ferret? Not bloody likely."

Hermione pushed herself off the ground then and said simply, "Saving him saves me."

Ron paled under his freckles at the statement, stripped of anything but sheer honesty, and after a moment held in the bowels of tension, he nodded slowly.

"I'll try to talk to Harry," he conceded, "No promises."


	35. Tea Leaves Unfold

**Tea Leaves Unfold**

* * *

" _Say something I'm giving up on you,_

 _I'll be the one if you want me to" -"Say Something" by A Great Big World_

TWO WEEKS UNTIL EASTER HOLS

"So? What did she say after you told her?" Draco uttered this, afraid that by raising his voice in a castle that could think, and thus listen, his words would be swallowed up.

Afraid, too, of the answer that he may receive back.

Theo lay flat on his back on a perfectly made bed. Draco wagered the elves had done that since Theo was never one to spend time on such mundane activities. The brunet cracked open a single eye at Draco's utterance, swiveling the somber midnight blue his way until Draco felt like squirming under the silent assessment.

Malfoys didn't squirm.

Blaise, also present in the dormitory, was the one to take pity on Draco.

"She said what you would expect."

The dark-skinned boy was the antithesis of Theo's irreverence as he stood straight, controlled, by the corner of his desk.

Turning his chair around, Draco allowed himself a moment of weakness and sought out her journal, which he had finally unearthed from his trunk after the incident with Pansy. The pages fluttered through his fingers until he landed on the last entry. The February one in which she had been straight as an arrow, perpetually a perfect shot.

She pierced him, still.

Belatedly, he got around to responding to Blaise's enigmatic answer.

"Some bloody Gryffindors shite, eh?" but the words came out rounded by affection.

Theo sighed disgustedly, "Why don't you just talk to her?"

oOo

TEN DAYS UNTIL EASTER HOLS

"I don't understand why you can't just talk to him!" Hermione started to exclaim, only tempering the volume of her voice at the synchronized head turns she and Ron received as they walked down the corridor. Ron shot her a dry, impatient look.

"Wouldn't you know, he's not the easiest sell right now, Hermione," and the verbal barb, only one of many Hermione had to endure since the fallout three days ago, had her biting her cheek in restraint.

Their combined shuffling echoed in the low-walled spaces of the basement as they made their way to Advanced Potions; after constraining herself to sit through Ron's THREE helpings of breakfast so that they could traverse to class together, she had hoped to be having a more productive conversation.

"It would probably be best," he continued, the bite in his voice acrid as ever, "if you gave us- " at this pointed emphasis, Hermione flushed red, "a little space. So we could come to terms."

The embarrassment was naked on her face as she felt the heat tingling in her cheeks, but Hermione resisted Ron's dismissal.

"What terms, exactly?" She bit out and Ron stopped at the threshold of the Potions classroom, blessedly out of view and earshot. They stood closely, almost intimately, but the lack of space between them felt less knitted and more burdensome, the canyon-wide gap in their perspectives shining clearly in Ron's stare.

"How about the terms in which you thought it was more important to continuously lie to your best friends in order to rehabilitate a Death Eater?"

Hermione's teeth ground down on the word. "I've tried to say I'm- "

Ron cut through her apology. Like always. "Or how about the terms that this bully somehow magically became deserving of your love?" His eyes continued to penetrate her, so somber that they froze Hermione to the stone she stood on, speechless.

An angry red started to creep into Ron's ears but at the rumble of Slughorn's voice, he exhaled the emotion gustily, a feat Hermione never thought she would witness.

"I told you I would try with Harry but for now, space would be best. Consider it penance for your betrayal," he concluded before turning to rush into the starting class. Slughorn could be heard droning on, his words inaudible and insignificant to Hermione as she reeled from the reality slap.

Ten days. Less than a fortnight before Easter holidays arrived and she would have to go home, hopefully to unharmed parents who now needed an escape plan to remain unharmed, and Draco would go home, likely to a torture session unfathomably long and -

Hermione bit her lip to stop the spiral, and drew blood. It slipped along the fragile skin, her tongue swiping it and painting the pink, red.

Red like anger.

Red like love.

She forced herself to enter the classroom, bowing her head in apology to the Professor, before tilting her eyes to take in the seating arrangements. Naturally, Ron took a seat by Harry, both boys resolutely looking anywhere but her. She scanned to find Theo and Blaise with Draco today who, for the first time in forever, lifted his head to make eye contact.

The momentary attention seared her and Hermione could feel her chest burn with the weight of insufficient words and unshed tears, the whole of their shared history churning under her skin but then he dropped his gray gaze and she was propelled back to the present, left standing idiotically in the middle of the classroom.

She slunk to the only other occupied table, where Belby was chatting quite amiably with Dean, and avoided the sharp, assessing stares of Theo and Blaise. Slughorn hummed good-naturedly before booming, "Page 301, class. Time for polyjuice potions and don't get too excited- we won't be testing them in class!" He winked at Harry, his go-to whenever he believed he said anything particularly witty.

"The potions needs a month to mature fully which means this is a short-term project; however I will also be reviewing regularly since the consistency is key, a fact which if you look at your texts states that you are aiming for… "

Hermione stopped listening because she was quite aware of the consistency of Polyjuice, in any of its month-long iterations. Her second-year self was as well, and the memory of it slipping mud-like down her throat prompted a look in the boys' direction, anticipating shared nostalgia.

They merely whispered between one another.

Once Slughorn finished his instruction, the Advanced Class set to work, fires poofing to life under the cauldrons and the sound of chopping knives filling the air. Dean and Belby had an easy, unexpected camaraderie which suited Hermione just fine as it left her alone.

She scanned the potion recipe, its familiarity a balm in such tumultuous circumstances, and started to pull ingredients from her stock. She knew that she owed Draco an update now that Harry and Ron were aware of their involvement. In some fanciful aberration, she had hoped to be able to confront him confidently, victoriously even, with a solution at her fingertips after receiving aid from her friends.

The largely logical portion of her brain knew where fancy belonged. It wasn't in bloody real life, that's for sure.

After prepping most of her ingredients, Hermione realized she would need boomslang skin from the school stores so she went to retrieve it, walking by her friends in the process. Bitterness at their dissociation built in the notches of her spine, the bones becoming straighter and more brittle the longer she mentally circled the matter of Harry and Ron, her "friends".

The term seemed, laughably, an insult now.

What kind of friends would choose to abandon her in such desperate straits?

 _The kind that were more concerned with cultivated animosity for another human than a bond forged from shared suffering,_ Hermione closed the door over hard as she made her way back into the classroom. Blaise tracked her path, intent buried in the espresso irises as usual, but Hermione felt too deep in the undercurrents of her resentment to surface for him.

She sliced thin strips of the boomslang then set it to stew in the water so that her mind could continue to stew over everything else.

The sting of their dismissal, all encompassing, drove her hands to restlessly tear through the sage leaves in her potion kit, their bitter scent curling into her nose, cleansing her. Hermione should have known all along that just because she responded when her friends needed her, didn't mean they would reciprocate when it was her turn to need. It was likely never a scenario they prepared for- brightest witch of their age, seeking aid.

 _Or,_ her mind rustled uncharitably, _the boys only knew how to need her. Her only purpose- to be needed… instead of to need._

Hands falling still, Hermione absently reviewed her potion as the remaining minutes ticked down in the class. The circuitous thoughts drained a body already devoid of hope, of promise, and they always eventually led back to the stark reality that Draco deserved to know it all.

Slughorn cleared his throat and announced the students should move their cauldrons to the brewing station in Lab 3. "We'll meet there moving forward, until the Polyjuice is complete!"

Hermione tarried behind the others, vanishing the bruised bits of sage leaves scattered on the table, as they all levitated their cauldrons down the corridor. Much of the class moved hastily in setting up their cauldrons in the lab, proceeding quickly back to the classroom to gather their things and beeline for the next class.

Hermione's feet were less cooperative, as if they caught in Devil's snare, and she became the last to place her cauldron and the last to collect her bag and she was certain, the last to traverse the corridor-

Until she saw Theo leaning against the corner of the staircase at the end of the hall. His ankles were crossed, the lankiness of his body defined even in the billowing set of school robes draped around his frame. The position indicated patience, unhurried nonchalance but as Hermione made her way to him, she felt snagged on the intensity flooding his dark blue gaze.

"Blaise wanted to be here," he opened. He pushed off the wall and matched her pace as they climbed the many stairs to Arithmancy.

"What for?" Hermione tried for innocence.

Theo chuckled. "Nice try." He sliced a sideways look at her as he said, "Gryffindor is the house least known for its subtlety."

"Not Hufflepuff?"

Theo practically guffawed at that, his hand landing on Hermione's shoulder as he tried to remain upright. The elation softened the otherwise sharp features of his cheekbones, his jaw, and for a moment Hermione basked in the easiness of Theo in her messy, complicated life. He wiped away a tear before replying, "Nobody cares about the Hufflepuffs."

Hermione bristled for an argument despite not having a single friend from Hufflepuff, but Theo cut her off, stepping in from of Hermione's path to catch her eyes.

"But you digress," he punctuated with a raise of his eyebrows, hardly visible under the overgrown brunet fringe. "That was a pretty direct cut from the dimwit duo," he prodded.

A half-hearted thrum of protest beat in her chest, so fleeting that it was gone before she could latch on and scold Theo with it. Instead, she dropped her eyes and started to mumble.

"It's- "

"Something," he cut off, chucking up her chin in the process. His lips were quirked up in a ghost of a smile that was not so much encouraging as it was conciliatory, and it gave her a renewed sense of energy for what she had to do.

Talk to Draco. Confess her shortcomings.

Then likely lose him for good.

Sighing, Hermione grasped Theo's arm and started pulling him in the direction of Arithmancy. "We're going to be late for class," she said although her hold cradled him gratefully. He looped her arm into the crook of his and escorted her the rest of the way.

The class had settled into another set of problems by the time Hermione and Theo entered the room; although quiet had already settled into the air molecules around them, the energy turned from studious to shocking as the brunet Slytherin ushered Hermione directly to her seat and with a saucy wink, deposited her before moving to his own. As he strutted to his seat, Hermione's eyes followed his trek and collided with Draco's.

For the second time that day.

The sensation was bittersweet, his pupils flitting back and forth across her face, continuously snagging on her own unwavering gaze, as if she contained all the clues to the mystery of life.

And for a split second, she felt completely open to Draco, now that all pretense and deception had disintegrated- like he could read her whole story, the best of it and the worst, and that revelation calmed her.

Then Professor Vector spoke.

"Well, Mr. Nott, I see you have yet to learn the importance of timeliness. Perhaps if your daily problem set was due before everyone else, you would finally get a sense of why I stress it so. I expect your work, say, ten minutes before the end of class."

She turned her scolding stare from a subdued Theo to Hermione. "Miss Granger," she sighed. The two words dropped into the ether, plummeting like Vector's expectations of Hermione.

Finally she added in a resigned tone, "10 points from Gryffindor."

Hermione kept her eyes down on her work after that.

The class moved slowly. Even though her eyes were on a complex pattern of numbers that required an advanced level of intellect, her mind flitted far away, to the imminent, the inevitable notion of what her new...est confession to Draco would bring about.

At precisely ten minutes before the end of class, Theo stiffly deposited his work on Vector's desk and then took his seat with crossed arms and a wooden expression. Not long after, they were all dismissed. Hermione squared her shoulders as she pulled her school bag up, resolve feeling like it etched itself into her features. She walked behind Draco and Theo as the two left the classroom and once they cleared the first corridor, she blurted out, "Excuse me."

The blond head froze. Theo paused nonchalantly and threw a look over his shoulder.

"Yeah, Granger?" He said, a wary curiosity building in his eyes. Hermione exhaled shakily.

"I need to talk to Draco." She gripped her bag fiercely, her knuckles turning as white as Draco's face once he turned to confront her. The pause stretched, thin and tenuous, before Theo bowed his head in acknowledgment and exited the hall.

Knowing a fair few of the classrooms in the corridor would be vacant right before lunch, Hermione led Draco to a classroom nearly off the beaten path then sealed the two of them inside the space with a Muffliato and simple locking charm.

Darkly, depressively, she assumed Draco would want an easy escape.

The boy in question kept his eyes plastered to the narrow, mullioned windows, his body a couple meters from the outer wall.

When Hermione trusted her voice she asked, "How have you been, Draco?"

She could catch the slightest tensing of his jaw, teeth clenched around an answer that Hermione couldn't begin to fathom would be true or deceitful, polite or poisonous. After a moment he growled, "Fine."

 _Ah. Poisonous in its politeness. Also bloody deceitful._

Draco did not turn around to address her and the implication of dismissal _again_ drove Hermione through her insecurities and stomping until she was face to face with him.

"There's no point in lying to me," she hissed. Draco finally dropped his eyes to her own, although the cold expression in them was less than inviting.

"Ah. Don't care for deception, then?"

Hermione's hair sparked.

Ten days. They had _ten days_ to figure this mess out and all anyone wanted to do was dissect her sins.

"A fault which I'm trying to reconcile," and her eyes tracked the minute changes to his person… the sharpening of flint in his irises, a calculated relaxation with his shoulders. She imagined the changes becoming less subtle with her next confession.

"I told Harry and Ron. About us."

Draco inhaled swiftly, stealing all the oxygen in the room, requiring Hermione to rush out an explanation lest she black out under the tension. "After I was told to not go home for the holidays- a suggestion you must know I would never follow- I knew that we needed help, that this was more serious than I believed. I knew that if there was anyone who could convince Dumbledore, it would be Harry."

Draco scoffed loudly, cutting her off. His face was carved with disdain.

"Again with Dumbledore. Was it not clear enough the first time that the bastard held no interest in saving me?"

She stared, conflicted. "But Harry- "

"Oh yes," Draco sneered, the disdain leaking into his tone, darkening to something seething, "Saint Potter- the savior of all. Of course since he's the favorite of Dumbledore, he would certainly be able to convince the fool to save his schoolyard enemy. A Death Eater, no less."

Hermione felt bombarded. Boxed in by the cutting words and glacial tones, his body cultured to cool stillness and the tepid explanations evaporated off her lips as Draco expertly connected the dots himself.

"It makes sense now," he mused, "what happened this morning in Potions. Have they abandoned you, knowing that you've been tainted?"

Hermione recoiled at the word then pressed forward, reaching a hand out. "That's a terrible, inaccurate description, Draco, and you know it."

He dodged her hand with a swift step back, closer to the door. To freedom.

His jaw clicked as he said, "All I know, _Granger_ , is that you seem to be awfully comfortable asking everyone for help after I explicitly told you I don't need it." Draco took another step back, as if the conversation was over, but Hermione refused the idea of another brush-off.

She was not lint to be picked from clothing.

Quickly, Hermione moved and launched a hand out, grabbing hold of his wrist. His eyes went wide as he froze.

"You didn't trust me," she said firmly, watching the quicksilver as it flashed in his eyes, "I was- open with you. And you didn't trust me at all."

Draco pulled his arm but she only tightened her grip. His voice dropped a register until he was nearly growling. "I didn't realize lying and going behind my back counted as being open."

They physically tugged back and forth, a veritable battle of his tempered efficiency against her passionate outbursts, then he continued his verbal onslaught. "Trust...what about trusting me? You didn't trust me to find my own way out."

Despite the mild interaction, Hermione's chest heaved like she was running a marathon and the blood pumped through her body rapidly, flushing the skin. She circled back to her same argument, her only option, even as the newfound closeness to Draco shuddered through her.

"I only wanted to help."

At that, Draco wound his arms until he could squeeze both of Hermione's wrists in his hands, vised by her hips and bringing them chest to chest.

"And I don't need it. Surprise though it may be, I am not your lack-wit friends who require your help to survive."

The words sliced with their finality, with their indelible accuracy to the very thoughts Hermione had harbored not two hours ago. Such a conclusion bled Hermione of whatever optimism still existed that she could indeed solve this problem.

Keep Draco safe.

Keep Draco as hers.

The muscles of her arms relaxed as the fight flowed right out of her and, sensing the change, Draco released Hermione's wrists abruptly and strode until there was considerable distance between them. Waves of emotion lapped in the space between, gaining strength the further away he tread, and yet Hermione couldn't decipher much over the salty taste of defeat as it sloshed into her mouth. She wiped at her face and felt her hand dampen from tears.

Draco was unsheathing his wand to counter the charms she placed on the room, mere moments from stepping out into the corridor and removing himself from her life, when the last shreds of tenacity coalesced in her chest.

Deprived of knowledge for too long, Hermione grappled for a final thread of comprehension, something she could knit into her imperfect mental tapestry that was Draco Malfoy.

Finally as his hand hit the door knob she whispered, "Draco".

He paused, turning back towards her. "Is there anything you require?" She asked, knowing help- her main asset, her one strength- was now irrelevant in the scheme of things.

She watched as Draco's face contorted in almost painful confusion. Then, he inhaled and a visceral change echoed throughout his whole body, the unnameable emotion palpable as his gray eyes once again found hers.

"Just myself," he stated.

oOo

8 DAYS UNTIL EASTER HOLS

Sleep had long since abandoned Draco so, at the earliest possible hour, he was striding to the Great Hall to sit alone so that he could reflect. No breakfast foods had yet been sent up by the elves, since no one else was awake at this bloody obscene hour, but coffee and tea sat steaming in their respective ceramic carafes.

Draco poured himself a cup of his preferred, fragrant brew; after going through his usual preparations, he inhaled the aroma greedily and took a sip. The hot liquid tumbled down his throat, scorching a path, but Draco relished the feeling.

It had been quite a while since he felt, period.

The peaceful atmosphere of the empty hall in the early morning had Draco releasing the tension built up over the course of the year. He sipped his coffee and rolled his shoulders, the stress shuddering off his body in response to the motion. He breathed in the quiet air and the secrets he had kept in his spine unlatched, keys falling from open locks.

Draco felt open and unburdened because for the first time, Draco understood that he was completely in charge of his fate.

Morosely, his mind recalled the argument yesterday with Granger. She had been a whirlwind of golden brashness, stalwart in her perspective of the situation and determined to get him to agree, and even with the second stab of betrayal of divulging to the dimwit duo, her impact was nothing short of mind-blowing. Much of her argument had just roared along in his blood, past comprehension now that their fates had been sealed, but then she asked a question.

" _Is there anything you require?"_

The question struck him like he was a divining rod, like Granger had been in search of precious somethings when she asked.

And consequently it echoed off something precious, an epiphany, and Draco's muddled mind cleared when he realized that the "you" she was asking about- and of and for- was not the Death Eater or the Slytherin or the Malfoy.

It was just Draco. And that had made all the difference.

Tilting his head up, he saw the pink of dawn in the enchanted ceiling shifting with the blinding white of the rising sun. The spring morning settled fully onto the Great Hall, bathing the worn tables and benches in a warm glow. Draco knew, before long, they would fill up with other students and his moment of quiet will have dissipated with the dawn.

His moment of peace, however, stretched before him, unbroken and unending.

The minute the food popped onto the tables, Draco prepared himself a full plate of breakfast. Blaise was the earliest riser of the Slytherins and he was just sliding onto the bench across from Draco as the blond swiped the last of his toast through the remaining egg yolk on his plate.

Draco's focus drifted up to see polite inquiry raise one of Blaise's eyebrows. Draco ignored it and proceeded to pour himself another cup of coffee, the action enough to spur Blaise into motion.

Other students started to file in, sitting at their respective tables, and increasing the hum of noise as they conversed and clinked their dishes. Before long, breakfast was well under way and the mail was being delivered. A third cup of coffee sat cooling in Draco's hands as he listened to Theo and Blaise chat inanely, then he was being smacked in the nose with a letter.

His mates went quiet as the letter tipped right-side up onto the rim of his cup, revealing what he already knew- that the letter was from his father.

He broke the seal and slipped the single sheet of parchment out.

 _Draco,_

 _Our house guest has recently learned some interesting news and expects to see you during Easter holidays. He is anticipating a lengthy visit in which you owe him an explanation._

 _As you do me._

 _Lucius_

The word "expects" jangled around in his head, an echo that started in his father's imperious tone before ebbing away to something quieter and yet more resolved. Something that sounded more like himself.

Scanning the table, he found Pansy to be seated closer to the middle of the room. Draco grasped his wand in his left hand and the letter in his right, winding his way purposefully through the socializing throngs of people, until he stood just behind Pansy.

He released the letter. It floated gently down to land on her plate, drawing her focus. After about ten seconds- enough time, he wagered, for the stupid bint to scan the lines- he growled 'Incendio' and lit it on fire.

The red-orange flames licked at the parchment edges angrily, the intention driving the spell work explicit in the flames' dance.

Pansy bore it dispassionately. The ashes speckled her half-finished breakfast and a perverted smirk quirked Draco's lips, at least until Snape strolled up to them. He vanished the mess while studying first Pansy, then Draco. Silkily he said, "Detention this evening, Mr. Malfoy," and his eyes flashed just as he turned back to the head table.

Evening came quickly. Draco finished dinner, two helpings of cottage pie, and then waved off his friends before heading to Snape's office. The door was closed when he arrived so he rapped smoothly on the wood.

"Enter."

Straightening his tie, Draco opened the door and crossed over the threshold. As much as he wished to assume the detention was purely pretense, it wouldn't do to show up bedraggled in his godfather's office.

Snape stood behind his desk which was devoid of pretty much everything. His arms folded, he looked down his nose as Draco came to stand dutifully on the other side of the desk. Snape's arms twitched momentarily before he shook out his robes and rounded the obtrusive piece of wood.

"I'm curious, Draco," and the blond felt the intrusive drilling of his godfather's eyes as he attempted to press into Draco's mind, "what motivated such a… _public_ instigation against Miss Parkinson."

The drilling turned insistent, painful, but fruitless against mental walls that had been made impenetrable by conviction. Without flinching, despite the throbbing behind his right eye, Draco answered, "A letter, sir."

"From who." Snape's tone deepened into warning.

"Lucius," Draco said and did not miss the way his godfather's eyebrows flicked near imperceptibly in question.

"And its contents?" The words turned from ominous to downright dangerous so Draco sighed his compliance and then closed his eyes, rousing the memories in question.

The letter. Granger's confession. The mistake in the Room of Requirement with Pansy and any other miniscule moment on the thread of events that led to now…as he flicked through and studied the images, Snape tugged hard on the thread to release every relevant vision until in an audible snarl of frustration, he ripped his consciousness from Draco's mind.

"Ow… fuck!" The blond cursed loudly. He looked to his godfather, still looming a meter or so away, the expression of pure frustration on his face unchanged.

Snape breathed through his nose, nostrils flaring, before hissing, "It's as if you have a death wish."

Draco was sorely tempted to shrug but wouldn't put it past Snape to strangle him, so he merely stood as still as possible waiting for the broody man to collect himself. After a few more moments, Snape straightened and gave his back to Draco, asking steadily, "Do you have a plan?"

Draco shook his head even though Snape couldn't see it.

"No. But I refuse to abide by _His_ plans any longer."

The older man made a sound of distress stifled in the back of his throat, but Draco's mind had already set to churning over what his next steps would be. Before he stated it, even when Snape asked, Draco hadn't a clue that his instantaneous reaction would be to defect.

He cleared his own throat and asked, "May I be dismissed, sir? I need to think this through."

Snape seemed to shudder in his robes, or perhaps he billowed them extravagantly, before turning to face Draco, words of protest already parting his lips.

"Please, sir."

And his godfather silently, albeit begrudgingly conceded. He waved him away wearily.

Draco sprinted for the 7th floor. The halls were crowded as he pushed through the pockets of students too slow to make room as his shoes slapped against the stone, muffling the yells from his disgruntled peers.

He called forth the Room breathlessly, flying down the twisted, cramped aisles until he reached the only remaining impediment- the Cabinet.

Well, perhaps it was the _only_ impediment; he still hadn't decided what defecting actually looked like… and hadn't a clue how to extricate his parents…

Collapsing into one of the empty chairs, Draco brooded into the black wood of the Cabinet. At present, there was no knowing if his father, at least, would agree to defection. Ice-cold disquiet trickled down Draco's spine as he thought back on the year's burdens, all brought on by a man blinded by a desperate need to remain in the good graces of a murderer.

 _No. Father won't choose me. Has he ever?_ He couldn't help but wonder. The blond threw his hands out in frustration, the left hitting the empty seat beside him and the finality of the wood tingled in his palm, jarring his body. Draco realized belatedly that the books on the Cabinet previously piled on that chair were now missing.

They belonged to his father. He would be most aggrieved if they weren't returned.

Draco stared a final time at the still-broken Cabinet and wagered that missing books would be the least of Lucius Malfoy's grievances in the coming days.

It certainly was the least of Draco's.

Unsheathing his wand, Draco sent the chairs careening into a nearby tower of junk. They landed with a resounding thud, almost toppling the pile. He then accioed a sheet from the bowels of the room, levitating the cloth until it could cover the majority of the Cabinet. Draco turned on his heel and never looked back.

Once he hit the 7th floor corridor, the adrenaline of the day caught up with him and suddenly his lungs felt collapsed in his sternum. The air was stuck in his throat with nowhere to go and the harder he inhaled, the more his pale skin flushed from the futile exertion. Draco stumbled down the hall to the bathroom.

His hands connected hard with the porcelain sink and he locked his arms before his knees gave way, before he collapsed into a pile of raw nerves. He heaved and heaved and the air didn't make a dent in the blazing hysteria backing up in his throat, so he wrenched the cardigan from his body, ripping the buttons free of his oxford in order to push the sleeves up off his forearms.

The cool air of the bathroom hit his skin and the Dark Mark raised on goosebumps.

Black. Distinct. Permanent.

The observation brought tears to Draco's eyes and before he knew it, they were falling in earnest down his cheeks, streaking the skin shiny.

For one awful moment, as he gulped around the tears Draco wondered if perhaps the choices he made… the mistakes that resulted from them were too big to reform.

 _Hermione never thought so. Blaise and Theo too. Even Mum thought there were more options…_

Shuddering a final tear-choked gasp, Draco raised his eyes to find Harry-fucking-Potter standing in the entryway of the bathroom.

Draco felt utterly exposed; nevertheless, he turned fluidly towards Potter and rested his hip on the sink, simultaneously sliding the Hawthorn out of his trouser pocket to rest at his side.

Potter's wand arm flinched.

"Stalking me around the castle now, Potter?" Draco observed lightly even as the tension radiated down to his fingers.

"Yes," the Gryffindor responded blatantly. "We need to talk, you see."

 _Fucking Salazar, Granger._

Draco cocked his head to the side, superficially contemplative. "About what?"

Potter hardened at the innocent lilt in Draco's voice. "Stop manipulating Hermione."

Unwittingly, Draco snorted at that. "You do her a disservice assuming she can be manipulated."

Potter's eyes dropped momentarily to the partially visible Mark as if to make a point. "You do her a disservice breathing the same air as her," then he threw a silent hex that hurled right over Draco's shoulder and shattered the mirror.

He ducked to avoid the falling glass and shot an Impedimenta from his crouch. Potter side-stepped to take cover behind the row of bathroom stalls. He continued his taunt, the words echoing off the tile.

"I really want to know how you did it," he pressed viciously, throwing his wand arm out blindly. The reducto curse burst like a comet across the small space and blew up a sink, covering Draco with the grimy water.

"She's supposed to be bright. How could she have possibly fallen for evil like you?"

The insult dripped from Potter's words like acid, causing a stir of protectiveness in Draco's chest. _Granger is bright. There's no "suppose" about it._

The ire tingled in his fingers. Draco attempted to bounce an Incarcerous off the outside wall but Potter assumedly ducked again since the blond never heard the thud of a falling body. He answered the boy in hopes of drawing him out.

"I suppose evil is subjective."

Harry huffed. "So is righteousness, I guess. I'm fucking disappointed in her."

The sheer condescension of Potter's perspective vibrated ugly through Draco and the ire shot up from his fingertips and into his chest where the possessive streak for Granger mixed volatilely with the suppressed anger.

Inching out from his section of wall, he trained his wand on the empty space and muttered, "Another disservice," but Potter wasn't listening.

He was too busy raging, near insensible.

"- Had to fall into bed with just anyone. Of course it would be her pet project- "

Draco immediately bristled at Scarhead's implication, as if the oblivious git who's known about the two of them for all of 24 hours could just skim the surface of their relationship and throw out the harshest, most inaccurate insult.

She had been a virgin, for fuck's sake.

And more importantly, she had been his. Intellectually and emotionally his long before he claimed her.

Draco prowled the edge of the sink-lined wall, feeling almost blind with rage at Potter's slander. _And you call yourself her friend, you pathetic arsehole-_

He caught sight of Potter, raised his wand, and the magic shot down his arm as he growled, "Cruc- "

Harry cut him off with a quick slice of his wand.

"Sectumsempra!"

The spell collided squarely with his chest and as if in slow motion, he was falling backwards onto the flooded bathroom tile. The impact was hard, knocking the wind right out of him, and dazedly he turned his head to find Potter rushing toward him with a petrified look on his face.

His ridiculously cheap shoes sloshed through the rose-tinted water… and vaguely, Draco marveled at how it could be changing color…

He ran his hands down his chest, brought them up sluggishly to find them covered in blood.

The pain from the curse felt muted, as if the sensation was leaking out all over the floor right along with his life force.

Too soon, he turned cold. Potter's face swam into view above him but Draco slammed his eyes closed against the vision. He wanted to see his mother behind the curtain of his eyelids. Safe. Happy.

Draco felt a numbness spreading up from his feet, a creeping indication of what was to come.

He clenched his eyes tighter, willed his Occlumency walls to drop. Hermione came bursting forth, all tangled hair and amber eyes, fierce determination and bottomless hope. Her mere memory warmed Draco and it leaked out of his eyes.

He tried to catch them with his uncooperative fingers; he didn't want to lose a drop of her.

The digits were cold. Lifeless.

An unrecognizable cadence floated above him out of reach but the voice…

He knew that voice.

It wasn't Hermione's.

The tears fell harder. She always had all the words and she gave them freely, gave her love without condition. He took it all without ever telling her-

Now she wouldn't know.

He didn't get to say goodbye.

She wouldn't know he loved her…

Say goodbye.

* * *

 **A/N: I swear I'm not cruel! The last chapter is being looked at by the bestest of betas and once it's given the green light you will get it! I hoped to keep these last updates rather close together... no one wants to needlessly suffer.**


	36. The Escape Hatch

**The Escape Hatch**

* * *

" _Seen my share of broken halos,_

 _Folded wings that used to fly_

 _They've all gone wherever they go_

 _Broken halos that used to shine" -"Broken Halos" by Chris Stapleton_

7 DAYS UNTIL EASTER HOLS

Realization came back slowly, through a sea of static. As he regained consciousness, Draco noticed two things immediately- the terribly scratchy sheets he was lying on smelled like antiseptic, and a set of blue, worried eyes stopped the air in his lungs.

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa sighed. He gripped her face and the woman didn't even flinch at the force of it. Her skin was smooth under his fingertips, cool to the touch, and utterly real.

He asked anyway. "Are you real?"

Narcissa's eyes were unyielding on Draco's face as she turned her head slightly to kiss the palm holding her face.

"How are you feeling?"

Suddenly, the whole reason why he was lying in the infirmary slammed into him. His breaths puffed out of him, quick and shallow, as he mentally catalogued his injuries. They were entirely isolated to Draco's torso, his hands drifting across the skin to map out the numerous tender nicks. Sucking in, he felt the newly-knitted skin tighten in resistance.

"I'm okay," he eked out before he slumped, unresisting, into the hospital linens. Mother and son stared at each other as the silence elongated, explanations too protracted or complex to fit into the intimate space of the curtained bed. So Draco took a moment to absorb the sight of his mother who he assumed he would never see again.

Her expression didn't necessarily radiate happiness as she traced Draco's form from hair to torso but he could figure that she was content, which he knew was a first in a long time.

And safe… which begged the question…

"Why are you here? How?" The words felt like gravel on Draco's tongue.

Narcissa straightened in her chair as she peered at Draco. "I'm here because Severus called me. It wasn't clear whether you would-" she stopped a moment, clearing her throat delicately.

"Severus assisted me through his floo, opening it only temporarily. Your father," and her tone turned considerably frostier, "expects he will see you soon enough."

Draco snorted at that then closed his eyes. Despite the impressiveness of magical medicine, his body still felt like it had been hit by a train and his mind fogged from the foreign mixture of herbs tumbling through his blood. His mother, though, seemed less inclined to allow him any further rest now that he was conscious.

She asked, "Is your father wrong to expect that?"

The air tensed as Narcissa approached the boundary of 'acceptable sickbed conversation topics' and Draco wondered not for the first time how his keen and cunning mother ever allowed their lives to become the mess they were.

Eyes closed, he drawled, "You said to find other options."

"Did you?"

Draco felt a sigh vibrate behind his pressed lips, desperate for escape, but far be it from him to offend his mother with a lapse in etiquette. Slowly, he peeled his eyes open and found her leaning forward in the chair with an earnest expression, bordering on desperation. The tension encasing them suddenly coiled tightly, forcing the dangerous truths he had hoped not to divulge in so public a space to tumble from his lips.

"I looked," he murmured, contemplating how best to vocalize his failure, "but I found nothing other than the expectations laid before me."

Carefully, Narcissa grasped his hand and squeezed support.

"But then Granger," Draco cleared his throat for time to piece together the words, "Granger's been nothing but a thorn in my side since the summer. Since I was tasked to spy on her." He huffed but the exhale felt comical as the picture arranged itself, drawing clarity in his mind. "Eventually she was less thorn," he mused inanely.

His mother stared, tracking his circuitous thoughts as they danced across his expression and fell from his mouth. She tracked them better than any Leglimens, a power innate to mothers, he supposed.

Internally smacking himself, Draco sliced right through the superfluous and delivered the simplest answer to his mother's question.

"Hermione showed me the options were of myself."

Narcissa's fingers fluttered against Draco's, who proceeded to curl them into the thin coverlet. The unflinching gaze unsettled him but he refused to elaborate. The truth- plain and unfettered- was laid out before them; his mother could take his word at face value, or leave it.

After a spell, just as Draco concluded that he was too tired to keep his eyes open and wait for his mother's judgement, Narcissa cocked her head to the side and asked a question.

"So why do you sound so defeated?"

Lying back, Draco closed his eyes at the inevitable culmination.

"Because I'm pretty certain it was at the cost of her in my life."

oOo

"What did you do?" Hermione seethed. It had been a mysteriously tense 24 hours in which both Harry and Ron had disappeared for a time; an anomaly for sure, but not what kept Hermione jittery with nerves.

There had been something else, an upheaval she couldn't put her finger on, at least until Ron approached her right after lunch the day after to explain what happened between Draco and Harry.

An argument, a volley of words.

Then a duel.

Hexes traded before a curse…

A near fatal curse.

 _Death, interrupted._

Hermione felt like screeching at the idiocy of boys but she contained her frustration, stoking it internally as she now bore down on her friend in an unoccupied corridor off the tower. Harry was still pale, still shaken 24 hours after the fact but also stony in the flood of accusations falling from Hermione's mouth.

Wordlessly she conjured a flock of canaries, their feathers red as the rage that tumbled in her blood.

"Harry James Potter, you will tell me right- "

"I cast a spell." Pause. "From the book."

The birds circled ominously and Harry continued to speak, his tone flat.

"I watched the map for him. Cornered him in the 7th floor bathroom. I made accusations. Demands." Harry shrugged as if this part of the story was entirely reasonable, and an angry twitch vibrated through Hermione's hand into her wand.

The birds lowered their cyclical flight.

"We dueled," he said, the slash of his eyebrows belligerent across his forehead, "we dueled and it got messy and just as it sounded like he was going to hit me with a Cruciatus- "

Hermione choked on a sob at that but kept her wand steady, her righteousness close at hand.

"I hit him with a spell that cut deep." Another pause, weighted with an almost-contrition, "Snape had to rush him to the infirmary."

Panic fluttered in Hermione's stomach. This all happened yesterday… _yesterday_ … and she was only learning about it now.

 _He could have died._ And she wouldn't have known.

No goodbye, no nothing, _because she wouldn't have known._

A deep-seated disappointment thrummed up, squelching the panic as she called the feeling into her restless fingers, her heavy tongue.

"Was it worth it?" She asked and Harry wrinkled his brow in confusion.

She clarified. "Hitting Draco with that spell, from a book I warned you off from. Was it worth risking my friendship?"

"Oppungo," she muttered, feeling herself break at the fragile look of guilt on her best friend's face before she rushed for the hospital wing.

oOo

Draco felt the static of sleep start to blissfully creep across his consciousness but the feeling dissipated when he heard movement of another body enter his recovery space.

Slitting open one eye, his blurry gaze landed on his mother fervently grasping Snape's hands.

"Thank you Severus," she murmured though the well of meaning in those words ran deep. Draco shook off the peaceful tendrils of sleep and sat back up, sighing unhappily.

"I couldn't very well let my godson die," the man said dryly, although his eyes glittered as they scanned Draco's body. He must have been appeased because his expression soon sharpened to astuteness.

"What led to the duel in the bathroom?"

If someone were to ask, he'd blame it on delirium from lack of rest because he actually _rolled his eyes_ at his godfather, intimidation personified.

"You know what," Draco drawled, impatience tingling his skin; Snape's feigned obtuseness after the memories he had been shown all bloody year made Draco want to scratch his arms raw.

The infuriating man merely raised his eyebrows, undeterred by sarcasm. Draco acquiesced, if only because if _he_ didn't state his side of the story, Golden boy certainly would.

"He threw that curse because he heard me start to cast a Cruciatus."

Narcissa admonished him with a harsh "Draco!" as his godfather's expression hardened into disappointment.

The recrimination irked; did the Golden boy receive any set-downs after hurling that curse or was he in Dumbledore's office, receiving an award for nearly taking down a Death Eater?

For Draco who had little faith in justice, especially when it came to Harry-fucking-Potter, it was infuriating in its irony that he- _the supposed evil one_ \- didn't land a lethal shot. He didn't throw one, if they wanted to get bloody technical, even.

Clenching, and then unclenching his fists, Draco said curtly in way of explanation, "He brought Hermione into it."

The words were met with a sigh of tepid forgiveness on Narcissa's part, not that Draco was looking for any. His godfather, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows expectantly again.

"I thought you decided to protect her," Snape said significantly.

The juvenile feelings bled right out of Draco as the air turned serious. He sat a little straighter as he said very slowly, very deliberately, "I did."

A painful sort of pride spasmed across Snape's face, so fleeting that Draco couldn't truly process it before the man spoke again. "So you've picked a side, then."

The words were posed as a question even though present company all had full knowledge of the answer.

That didn't stop Draco, weak and pale and determined, to externalize his revelation.

To own his identity for the first time in 16 years.

"Yes, I have."

oOo

Theo was sitting with Blaise at the Slytherin table, both picking listlessly at the lunches before them and feeling conspicuously incomplete.

The previous evening, Draco saluted to them before swaggering out of the common room to report to his detention with Snape. Even now, remembering how Draco's old self so readily rose to the surface, brought warmth to Theo's chest.

And there hadn't been much to be warm about in oh, about, forever.

But then, he and Blaise had gone to bed to wake up to a dormitory with only a snoozing Crabbe and Goyle present. They ate breakfast, went to class, and recently joined back up in the Great Hall for lunch to the joint conclusion that something was definitely not right.

A fact, Theo mused comically, proven in full as Snape billowed past them after commanding they "Stay here".

It was not unreasonable, then, that the two were without appetite. Theo sat across from his brooding mate, wondering if there was something grossly inappropriate he could say that would wipe the serious look off Blaise's face. He, the irreverent one, the mate unanimously deemed a comical arse- comical, of course, being the operative word- sat with his mouth opening and closing like some dumb fish.

 _What bloody good am I if I can't even manage this?_

Opening his mouth yet again, Theo prepared to just improvise- he did have wit on his side- when Blaise's eyes flicked up and over his shoulder, widening ever so slightly. Theo raised a brow at him quizzically, then turned to his right to catch the stares of his fellow 6th years snakes. To his left, a familiar, aggravating voice floated down over his shoulder.

"Why are you so somber?" Luna Lovegood asked as she proceeded to slip in next to Theo on the vacant bench, consequences be damned. The chit was downright unmanageable, living way outside everyone else's orbit like some rogue planet.

As if his judgement were vocalized, she casually swiped a chip from his shuffled-about plate, throwing a dimply quirk on her lips in his direction. Theo sputtered, and then rather inelegantly said, "Loony, piss off."

The blonde chewed for a moment, her eyes flicking between Blaise and Theo.

"You needn't worry, you know. Draco will be alright."

Blaise choked on air just as Theo knocked over a completely full cup of pumpkin juice. The orange liquid swirled its way around the plates and utensils, eking towards the edge of the table before Lovegood vanished it away.

"Tergeo," she said cheerfully, the shocking reverberations her words caused did not even ripple her demeanor. A little half-smile tilted her lips as the table returned to normal. "Not even sticky," she hummed as she ran a pale finger along the wood. Theo watched as Blaise's dark hand crowded Lovegood's which subsequently flustered Theo for some unknowable reason.

Her attention turned upwards to Blaise who asked, "What do you mean- "

"Oh, she didn't tell you?" The Ravenclaw tutted. "She really must work on how she builds relationships."

Blaise's fingers squeezed insistently. Lovegood refocused, then said soothingly, "I told Hermione awhile back. Death, interrupted. Draco turns out okay."

Wordlessly, Theo and Blaise scrambled to their feet. Lovegood ascended too, striding in near contentment behind them as they took long, purposeful lunges to the Entrance Hall.

Both boys eyed her pointedly before Theo confusedly asked, "So you've picked a side?"

Lovegood only smiled and his stomach dropped at the mischievous tilt of those pale lips. "Have you?"

oOo

Snape, Draco, and his mum made a somber trio as they sat in the hospital wing, each weighted with their own, personal turmoils. Draco, for example, ached from the desire, the sheer need to scour every corner of the castle until he found Granger.

 _Hermione._ They had just under seven days left together and he wanted to revel in every fucking minute of them with her, before they had to part ways.

To keep her safe, alive.

Just not as his.

Noise then erupted from the entrance of the wing, effectively breaking the silent bubble encasing Draco's recovery space, and as if the bone-deep ache could manifest her, there she was.

Hermione skidded to a stop in front of Draco's bed, her eyes hungry as they roved over his body, likely cataloging his various injuries. His mum and Snape backed away from the bed slightly but even that movement didn't break the steadiness of her amber gaze.

She shifted forward cautiously, stopping just shy of the bed. Hermione's eyes finally stopped on Draco's own silver gaze and she held it fiercely, even as the feeling welled up in their multi-colored depths, utterly transparent as they glistened, coalesced, and then fell in rivulets down her cheeks.

She didn't stop staring even when he did, the weight of her emotion too heavy to bear and yet _she did._

"I'm so sorry," she choked, the words caught in her throat and Draco felt his jaw drop in shock.

After weeks of waiting, wanting, wishing to hear those words from her, it turned out less satisfying than he imagined. The apology felt foreign somehow; not particularly false but also not wildly fitting after everything that happened.

Hermione waited patiently as Draco's mind uncoiled itself from these thoughts and the undiluted penance sketched across her face made him growling, "Don't."

Her face surprisingly softened. She asked, "Did you really almost send a cruciatus at Harry?"

Draco didn't hesitate. "He would have deserved it."

Hermione raised her hand, preparing to smack him, and his mum shifted protectively but it didn't matter because Hermione only had eyes for him. She stopped herself as her brown eyes flicked down to take in his bandaged chest more thoroughly.

"Perhaps," she mused with a self-deprecating tilt to her eyebrows, "we are not the ones to decide what other people deserve."

Draco inhaled swiftly through his mouth, as if he could swallow the words of absolution. He tried to form 'thank you' but the words were backed up behind the knot of gratitude that this girl could be so continually thoughtful. Generous, even.

Struggling to sit up prompted exactly what he hoped for- Hermione moving closer in concern. She reached out and once she was in contact range, Draco pulled her in for a fierce kiss.

"I don't deserve you," he muttered before reconnecting with her lips, all at once so new and so familiar. Hermione nipped at him in response then she breathed into his mouth, right down to his soul.

"Now, now Draco. You're pretty smart so I don't need to repeat myself."

He kissed her with the quirk of his lips, content to stay fused like that for the next six days… until his bloody godfather cleared his throat impatiently.

"Be that as it may," the bastard drawled imperiously, "there are decisions to make and time runs scarce."

Narcissa stepped up to flank Snape, her eyes on Hermione even as her words were intended for Draco. "He will be expecting you at Easter holiday."

The blond shook his head quickly, dispelling the assumption.

"I'm not going back."

Hermione shifted away from Draco, much to his dismay, as the adults started to rain reality down on his head about the difficulties with defecting. The words attempted to enmesh with him, all their "hows" and "whys" regarding the present dilemma. Yet Draco felt burdened still by the haze caused by the medicine so that the only thought to crystallize was, "Mum, I want you to come with me."

Snape ceased talking, his brows furrowed in impatience as Narcissa's attention drifted to her son. "Dear, come where? We have no plan."

At that, Hermione sharpened and Draco watched in anticipation, in bloody fucking optimism, as took a step forward, clearing her throat.

"An escape hatch," she said. Her gaze skipped to Draco and then back to the two, formidable adults staring her down as a jittery excitement made her wringing her hands. "Blaise and Theo- they were working on what Blaise referred to as an escape hatch, in the event…"

Draco clenched his jaw as Granger's all-too-understanding eyes landed back on him. He was already finishing the sentiment in his head, twisting it to fit some bitter notion that _everyone_ was thinking but _no one_ was saying… and yet, Hermione was never one to leave a sentence unfinished, a question unanswered.

A loved one abandoned.

"... in the event that you did what you chose, instead of what you had to."

The conviction in her tone washed over Draco and he felt all of a sudden new, confident, charged.

Leaning onto his hands, Draco reached out and pulled Granger close once more. Uncaring of the audience, he nestled his nose into her curls until he touched the shell of her ear.

"Hermione, will you come with me?" He asked and her breath hitched. "You're not safe."

Her eyes stayed forward as they took on an unfocused glaze. Hermione's body trembled slightly against his when she started to ramble, "Like I told Blaise and Theo, I can't leave my parents. I have a plan," she swallowed thickly, "and after that, I can find you."

Only then did she shift to make eye contact, the resolute brown darker now as it dragged across his face.

The silence expanded, accounting for the intimacy as they continued to just take in each other's face, unaware of anything beyond smooth, unworried skin and a pulse in the neck... deep, abiding eyes and emotion so thick that Draco could feast on it.

His godfather, ever the protagonist, cut back to the chase. "Miss Granger," he started and the girl blushed, "I can take care of your parents."

The blush bled out of her. "Professor, I don't think- "

"No, you don't." He scolded and the tone, so often used with Draco, so often thrown at Hermione in Draco's vicinity, rankled for once. Draco measure a scowl at Snape but the man ignored him.

 _Prick._

"You don't think," he reiterated, "nevertheless, I have an inkling of what your plan may be and surprisingly, I am competent in seeing it through."

Draco studied Hermione as she warred with herself, her mind whirring so loudly he could practically hear the debate- did she trust an adult who had inspired little in the 6 years they knew each other or outright disrespect a teacher.

She pulled her bottom lip in between the line of her teeth. _Ah, brave little lioness then._

Granger's lips opened, glistening with her perfectly prepared case, "But- "

Snape clearly was in no mood to humor because he sighed, "If the escape hatch is successful, I highly doubt you will be able to follow Mrs. Malfoy and Draco where they will be heading."

The logic eroded her likely weak counterclaim; Draco could see it in the sagging of her shoulders, but inwardly he rooted for Snape's success because selfishly he wanted her with him.

Granger shuddered. "I just want to say goodbye. And collect some things," but the bleakness in her tone hinted to how she saw the inevitable. Rather gently, his godfather steered her away to the door of the hospital wing, and before panic could bloom fully in his chest, his mother was upon him with questions on preparing to leave.

Snape had a hand on Hermione's shoulder, firm but not harsh, as he moved her away from the earshot of the Malfoys. They stepped out into the fortunately empty corridor where the stony-faced man continued his spiel.

"I understand that you want to protect the people you love," Snape sneered at the word though it didn't quite reach his eyes, "but I will be the one to obliviate them and send them away. They will be safe."

Hermione had a million questions, the most pressing being how in the world Snape knew she planned to obliviate her parents, but the man was determined to steamroll over all her doubts.

"You should be more concerned, at present, whether Mr. Zabini and Mr. Nott were successful- "

"Doubting us, Professor?" Theo's disembodied voice drifted flippantly around the corner before the brunet made an appearance, smirking and with Blaise as well as Luna flanking his steps.

oOo

After Snape requested a list of details regarding her parents, he escorted Theo and Blaise into the hospital wing with an audible click as he locked the door. Luna stood silently beside her.

Hermione turned to the blonde and asked softly, "Would you mind coming with me to Gryffindor tower?"

Luna nodded, then they set off at a pace that was not quite frantic but certainly purposeful. The quiet enveloped them, save for their steps on the floor, until Hermione's thoughts became too depressing. She slanted a look through her curls at Luna who looked rather preoccupied herself, but Hermione knew there wasn't the time to dance around goodbyes.

"You were right," Hermione said without looking, "about what you Saw but also that maybe…"

Hermione pulled in a fortifying breath, her mouth puckering slightly at the admission that waited on her tongue. "I wasn't meant to change what happened. The way it played out- it gives Draco and his mother a chance now. And me, it gives me a chance at approaching things with a new perspective."

All at once, Hermione burned with the need to see her friend's face so she cut in front of her, forcing Luna to draw to a stop.

Hermione's eyes skipped across the girl's expression, expecting to find smugness or perhaps victory lighting up her gray eyes; instead the brunette found an uncharacteristic melancholy weighing on her features, anchoring the airy girl to the ground.

"Will you be all right here?" Hermione asked, suddenly nervous. Luna sighed, a prelude to the unwanted truth.

"We'll make do, just as I imagine you will."

The pair walked into the common room which remained near empty since the lunch hour had yet to end. Harry and Ron sat near the fire in their usual spots, talking quietly, but Hermione walked directly past them. Their eyes followed her all the way to the spiraling staircase that led to the girl's dormitory.

Luna sat on Lavender's bed, merely observing, as Hermione attempted to sort through which of her belongings were essential enough to make the trip. The surface of her bed steadily disappeared under piles of clothes- mostly muggle style- as well as necessities like hygienics. Her potion kit went on top before turning to her trunk nearly bursting with books.

Instinctually she moved _Hogwarts: A History_ to the surface of the bed. The decision was instantaneous, based mostly in sentimentality, but rooted deeper was a hope that it would serve some purpose.

Luna started humming in the background as Hermione continued to add one, two, three books to the pile… her Advanced DADA text, _Spellman's_ _Syllabary_ , and an Ancient Runes dictionary. She stumbled upon her old DA coin tucked into the cover of _Standard Book of Spells,_ _Volume 5_ and promptly pocketed the item, her mind mulling over options. As Hermione weaned through the dusty tomes at the bottom of her trunk, Luna paused in her humming.

"It would be nice to keep in touch," she said, too idly, just as Hermione's hands landed on her journal. The one Draco charmed to have a duplicate. Hermione raised her eyebrows over her shoulder.

"I think I know a way."

Laughter lit those gray eyes that turned up toward the ceiling, and the humming resumed. Hermione took stock of the substantial pile on her bed. She sighed.

It was all necessary. It all had to come. With the assistance of her wand, she neatly levitated the items back into her school trunk and then she and Luna exited the dormitory.

As they came down the stairs, Ron approached from the opposite side of the room with a wary look.

A resigned one.

Hermione felt a rush of affection for her friend, the one she once considered the more careless of the two. He stopped just shy of the girls and placed his hands in his trouser pockets, his blue gaze studying first Luna, then Hermione.

Ron muttered under his breath. "I had no idea he was going to do that. He agreed to help…" and the sentence tapered off, fishing for apology.

Forgiveness.

Hermione allowed him a small smile. In all the time of their friendship as a trio, he never had to play mediator and in her mind, Ron managed as best he could.

"People have different definitions of help, it seems," she conceded.

 _I'm sorry_ is what he didn't say. _You're forgiven_ is what she didn't reply back… but the message was delivered all the same.

After Ron released the breath he was holding, Hermione sought Harry's eyes, finding that he was taking in the conversation from where he stood by the couch. His arms were crossed defensively across his chest, his eyes tilted down toward the floor.

Hermione raised her voice so everyone could hear. "My parents are in danger. So am I, still. Draco is running with his mother-" The boys looked wide-eyed at the significance of this but underneath Hermione's frustrated, unvoiced 'I told you so' and a perversely satisfying eye roll, urgency pressed her to stick to the necessary details.

Draco would be able to tell his story one day… and maybe then they would be willing to actually listen.

"I can't stay," she exhaled.

It hurt to breathe the words into existence, to leave the explanation at a phrase so frustratingly simple.

But the truth was the truth, no matter how she tried to sugar-coat it.

Ron and Harry, once they got over their slack-jawed surprise, protested together.

"Hermione, no!"

"Hogwarts is safest- "

"We can figure out your parents- "

"You can't!"

Luna placed a hand on her shoulder during the exchange and Hermione soaked up its strength and certitude. Shaking her head she said, "You can't change what's already been done. I know that now." She looked briefly to Luna.

"They are going to an undisclosed location. I'm going with them."

The boys, knowing the sound of conviction in Hermione's voice, stood defeated as she momentarily fumbled for the DA coin she stashed earlier. She held it up, fingers trembling slightly.

"You still have them?"

Ron shrugged, "Somewhere," and Hermione couldn't help smiling through her tears at a comment that was so undeniably Ron.

"We can communicate through them until we meet up again," she explained.

A small slice of peace settled over her that she would have contact with both sets of her closest friends. Harry though remained unconvinced.

"Will we?" He asked a bit gruffly, as a restless hand ran though inky locks already mussed beyond repair and suddenly all the earlier hurt dissipated like mist in the bright, burning daylight.

Her voice hoarse with honesty, Hermione said, "I already told you. You can't change what's already been done and I've vowed our whole friendship, Harry, that I'm with you."

She moved past Ron, around the couch with Luna as her ever-present shadow, as she placed a tentative hand on Harry's shoulder; the contact bled the tension out of Harry's frame.

Catching his eyes, Hermione infused warmth into her gaze. "You may just have to learn to accommodate one more," she said lowly like a promise.

Like an ultimatum.

Harry held her stare and for a moment, she was sure he would shake her hand free, swat the words aside like some pestilence. But that didn't happen- nothing really did, except for the collision of their gazes and the quick fusion of minds that up until then had been too opposite to emulsify.

"We'll see you at Ron's," he finally permitted and after a quick hug, Luna was dragging her away from messy half-resolutions and long-winded goodbyes.

oOo

Draco watched as Snape guided Hermione away and hoped with every ounce of his pathetic soul that he would convince her to go with him. It had been a week of firsts, after all.

The waiting though… the waiting was driving him mad so after a few minutes he asked his mother to alert the elves so they could discreetly collect his belongings. She hesitated. Closing his eyes in dismissal, he felt his consciousness finally fade at the sound of her departing footsteps.

Next he knew, Draco was roused by a chorus of voices that were doing nothing to modulate their volume.

"Bloody hell will you keep it down?" He grumbled, grunting as he rolled onto a particularly tender section of his torso.

"Rise and shine, dearie." Draco recognized the snark in that voice. His eyes shot open.

Snape had returned and was currently glowering at… _sweet Salazar…_ Blaise and Theo. Since coming to after the whole bathroom incident, he hadn't allowed himself to think of his two best mates. He just tamped down the despair at the collateral damage that would be caused by his defection and subsequent disappearance.

But for some reason, they were here, ensconced in his ridiculously small and plebeian recovery space, and at the odd bidding of Snape or so it seemed.

The three boys just traded looks as Snape scanned a sheet of parchment in his hand, something Draco found inconsequential as he bore the wordless recriminations his mates were glaring right into his bandaged torso.

Even when his mother arrived back with his things, the air sat still, anticipatory, until Snape turned an appraising gaze on Blaise and Theo. The barest hint of surprise laced his tone.

"Well, this may work. Who thought to key the item with astronomical data to the location, in lieu of a permit?"

Blaise answered with a barely-there, smug grin. "Actually, that was Hermione."

There was a variety of reactions ranging from a wide-eyed Narcissa to a positively emotive throat clearing by Snape. Draco felt caught in the undercurrent of his own feelings- surprise that Blaise and Theo thought of a portkey, and a mix of awe and aggravation over Hermione's utter brilliance.

Blaise elaborated. "She didn't know that was the actual plan but during a study session, I got her talking about some magical theory on portkeys. She's the one," and at this Blaise's eyes tilted upward in supplication, "that knew the process with which they could be alternatively activated."

A loaded pause where four sets of eyes looked to Snape; his face remained inscrutable as he intoned, "Of course."

At this, Blaise and Theo started to twitch toward Draco's bed in what he felt was atrociously conspicuous because after a half minute of Snape's gaze flicking between the pair's discomfited limbs, the adults moved outside of the curtains under the pretense of finalizing supplies.

An exasperated sort of relief rushed out on Draco's exhale as both boys took a side and crowded the blond.

Theo's lips split into a strained smile. "You really need to learn to be less dramatic," as he nodded to Draco's various injuries.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're right. I planned on Potter cursing me."

Theo paled and Draco caught the muttered swear as it escaped Blaise's mouth; clearly whatever brought Blaise and Theo to the infirmary, it wasn't the messy and intimate details. Draco gave them a moment to digest it privately, presently unwilling to go any further into the events of the past 24 hours.

His mind instead felt snagged on the surprising revelation that his best mates all along had been working to give him this chance, this lifeline, a safety net...

"Will my mum and I be safe?" He blurted out.

Blaise stared a bit dumbly and the absurdity of the question sunk back into Draco's skin, making him flush awkwardly on the back of his neck.

"Just you and your mum, then?" Blaise prodded in response as he shifted his stance, radiating challenge. Theo smacked him in the shoulder, unimpressed.

"And to think, I was considered the irreverent one once," the brunet quipped as he pushed his hair out of his eyes to give Draco a fervent look. "You did ask her to go, right?"

It was Draco's turn to smack someone but he only grazed Theo's shoulder as the git moved out of reach.

Although no real, viable answers had been given by either party, they looked at each other and breathed deeply air thinned of superfluous consolation, of long-wrought tension. The imminent war loomed, feeling much like the static distorting the air before a storm, but for now the three stood in each other's presence, unburdened.

After a while, Draco felt compelled to at least urge, "Don't do anything stupid."

Blaise's stare bore into him. "You too."

Theo huffed an uneasy laugh, inserting himself into the conversation. "Unlikely, Drake. You're stuck with the Gryffindor now."

Draco's lips quirked fondly before retorting "And you get the batty Ravenclaw," then his eyes drifted up and past his friends as the curtains fluttered.

Hermione parted the second curtain to find the source of the voices huddled closely together on the other side. Luna remained with Hermione's belongings, set outside of Draco's recovery space, a wordless offering of privacy so she could make another round of goodbyes.

Moving toward Theo, Hermione couldn't resist goading the boy.

"And to think, you chose this stupid lion as your study partner."

"I'll learn from my mistakes," he added with a shrug, eyes twinkling as they ran over Hermione in an affectionate manner. Almost brotherly.

She hoped the goodbyes would get easier but instead the fragility of these new friendships felt like they were going to shatter under the pressure of the adversity to come. Hermione gulped then suddenly grasped Theo's hand, hoping irrationally that the contact would fuse the bond, render it unbreakable.

After a fraught moment, they released and Hermione caught Draco's eyes as he shifted forward in bed.

"You're coming with me?"

Hermione tried to steady herself with an inhale. "I thought you didn't need me," she said gently although a pang reverberated in her chest.

Draco studied her for a long moment and then shook his head, magnifying the pang a hundred-fold. He trapped her in his hold, grasping her hands so hard she could feel the bones shift, then he vowed to her.

"I want you though," and he continued to clutch her hands, firmly, deliberately, until the intention of his words settled into the deepest part of her.

For Hermione who always was needed, the idea- _this gift he was providing with his vow_ \- was truly freeing. She smiled back at him.

"Then anywhere."

Draco sagged in relief, which only broadened Hermione's smile, but then she looked across the bed. Without conscious thought, she kissed Draco's hands and moved around the bed toward Blaise, asking a bit shyly, "Would you permit me a hug goodbye?"

Blaise's eyes darkened impossibly. "Fucking hell, Granger," yet he moved in toward her, crouching slightly as she vaulted up on her toes so that she could lock her arms around his neck.

"You saved me," she wove into the skin there, "thank you."

Blaise cleared his throat and rasped, "You saved him. We're even."

After Blaise released Hermione from the hug, Draco watched Snape and his mum make their way across the infirmary with a single bag of additional items.

Now clearly drained of emotion, Hermione snapped to business as she asked Draco to retrieve his copy of her journal from his belongings.

"It's a duplicate," she explained to everyone, "He made it as he was spying on me over the summer, thinking he'd get relevant information from it."

Hermione smirked and Draco bristled before ducking to unlock the bottom of the trunk.

"I did get relevant information," he said, the retort muffled as he was now head-deep in his trunk. He emerged, book in his hand, and immediately Blaise and Theo started to chuckle.

"It makes sense now, mate. All that time with your nose buried in Arithmancy," and Theo waggled his eyebrows. Draco saw Hermione squint her eyes in inspection and knew the moment she caught the worn textbook cover as she suppressed a giggle.

Draco blushed.

"Give it to Luna," she requested and gratitude rushed through him, happy to stay on track. He handed it over, albeit reluctant to watch it go, while Hermione addressed their fellow peers.

"I have my original journal. Whatever I write in it shows up in the duplicate." She nodded at the book in Luna's hand. "It's a one-way communication only but it's secure and at least a way for you to know how we're doing."

Draco worked his way slowly to Hermione's side, adding on, "I put it under a locking charm keyed only to me for further security. Think you can manage that, Lovegood?"

Luna rotated the book in her hand once, twice, a third time before it vanished from sight. "I think you'd be surprised by what I can manage."

The boys gaped. Hermione shook her head. Then she told Blaise and Theo, "You can check in with Luna for the updates, okay?"

Behind Lovegood, Snape clearly had moved well past their verbal volleying; he stood outside the curtains and, having taken in the scene before him, now sneered at the pile of luggage that came waist high on Lovegood.

"Miss Granger," he clipped, "please retrieve an appropriately sized bag from your things." Hermione followed his instructions, landing on what Draco deemed a pretty, beaded thing. Snape plucked it from her hands.

"Pay attention because I'm only going to show you this once," and then man performed a spell unknown by Draco although he caught the look of awe on Hermione's face. She was sucking in her cheeks in an attempt at restraint but her curiosity got the best of her.

"I read about the undetectable extension charm, Sir. My plan was to learn it but further study showed that it was considered illegal by the Ministry."

Snape sent a look that could wither plants in her direction but the reckless chit just cocked her head to the side. Draco nearly keeled over in amusement at the irony of Snape, staid and stoic Potions Master, teaching an illegal spell to a bloody _Gryffindor_.

With the help of Lovegood, Hermione made quick work of levitating her essentials pile from the floor and into her bag. Unfortunately, time still remained of the essence.

Luna had ventured over to the boys, presumably to fluster Theo, so Hermione was left alone with the adults. Draco turned an ear to them as he watched Hermione carefully cinch the ties of her bag as she asked lowly of Snape, "Can you send a Patronus about my parents?"

A long-suffering sigh escaped the man.

"If I must."

Through the slant of his eyes, Draco saw a small smile dance across Hermione's face, one she tried to hide from Snape's cantankerous mood. Then, at long last, she moved back to Draco's side. The boys and Luna fidgeted to make a human wall in front of Snape, their eyes colored with worry and expectation as Narcissa moved closer to the couple.

Draco accioed a blood replenishing as well as strengthening potion that he subsequently gulped down. Feeling more like himself, he transfigured the drab hospital garb he was wearing into a more comfortable set of trousers and sweater; then he positioned Hermione near his mother.

She handed a bag to Draco, likely also charmed with that clever little spell, and then she held up a silk handkerchief. The folds fell away to reveal his shining, Prefect badge.

"You all need to be touching it when Narcissa activates it," Snape reminded them.

The woman in question breathed deeply before she said, "On the count of three, then?"

Draco and Hermione nodded in unison before gripping each other's hands.

"1-"

He couldn't help throwing a last glance over his shoulder, searing the view of his friends, his frustrating godfather, and loony, revelatory Lovegood in his memory.

"2-"

Then Draco was focused back on the tight circle, made up of the two women who meant everything in a world where nothing was inherently known.

"3-"

He locked eyes with Hermione and she mouthed the words he had yet to say but then, she already knew. Why else would she end with 'too'?

"Portus."

FIN… or is it?

* * *

 **A/N: Whew. We did it! I hope that I didn't entirely enrage you with ending this way... but sometimes, you just have to follow where the characters take you and in this case, Dramione took us this far. Never fear! If you didn't quite pick up on it, I already could feel Theo and Luna needing to live their own story and they are, what one may call, part 2. Please watch for 'The Remotest Star' as a follow-up fic delving into Year 7 at Hogwarts and if you're a Dramione fan, take a look because my favorite couple will remain close.**

 **Thank you to anyone and everyone who has read through to the end. I hope you found some shred of joy along the way. And a million uncomfortable hugs for my beta, JessIvy, who helped gathered the scattered pieces of my imagination and helped direct it into what this fic turned out to be. Now I'm getting inarticulate. Until the next story!**


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